


Late Is Better Than Never

by cornpony



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Owls, Slow Burn, Speeding Bullet (Team Fortress 2)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 144,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7303357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornpony/pseuds/cornpony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout and Sniper have technically known each other for more than five years, but only as distant colleagues.  When a chance encounter causes them to see each other in a different light, they find they have more in common than either of them could've ever imagined.  And maybe, just maybe, there are more than just feelings of friendship bubbling beneath the surface of their newfound closeness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The plan was simple.About a quarter mile off-base, there was a really cool rock formation that looked like it had plenty of shady overhangs and places to rest your back against.Scout would walk out to it, climb up, and have a rare moment of peace.

Normally, the word “peace” had no meaning for Scout.  He was a mercenary, after all—he killed people for a living.  Sure, they were brought back to life ten minutes later due to science-y medical voodoo bullshit of some kind, but that wasn’t the point.  The point was that he was always shooting people, or people were shooting him, and that tended to leave a guy pretty keyed-up.  And if that guy happened to be keyed-up beforehand, that made things all the worse. 

But it was just after quitting time on Friday afternoon, and there was the remainder of the evening and two more days of not-dying to look forward to.Scout could finally afford to loosen up a tad.He always tried to make it _look_ like he didn’t care about anything, but that wasn’t exactly the truth about most stuff.Anyway, he needed to clear his head, and he’d like to get some fresh air while he was at it.

His backpack weighed heavily on his shoulders as he walked across an endless stretch of dried, dusty red clay.It wouldn’t have been so heavy if he hadn’t packed every single felt-tip marker in his possession, a drawing pad, twelve new comics he’d yet to read, four cans of soda, and an assortment of junk food to snack on, but he couldn’t afford to leave any of that behind.All of it was essential for tonight’s rare moment of peace, after all.

For sure, Scout didn’t want the other mercs to find out he read comic books.And he _really_ didn’t want them finding out he liked to draw.Those weren’t manly hobbies, that was _nerdy_ stuff, and he’d like to keep those little tidbits to himself.It’d probably be easier just to stay in his room with all of it, and no one would be the wiser, but that was stuffy and boring; he’d rather be outside.

From afar, the rock formation had not looked like it’d be easy to climb, but the long, flat rocks nearest the bottom were shallow enough to walk up, like a nature-made staircase.About halfway up, there was a little bit of actual climbing to be done, but nothing that required any real effort or skill on Scout’s part.He was up at the top of the rock formation within two minutes.Easy-peasy.

And to his relief, there really were a lot of rocks jutting up that’d be perfect to lean against.He unshouldered his backpack near a comfy-looking one and made a move to sit down.

But before he could lower himself to the ground, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye that nearly made him jump out of his skin.

He was not alone on this rock.

At first, Scout’s mind triggered into attack mode, his hand flying to the pistol holstered at his hip; he had the gun pulled halfway out of it before he registered the identity of the stranger not ten feet away from him.Shoulders sagging in relief, he let out a shaky little laugh.

“Jesus, Sniper,” Scout said, adjusting the pistol back into its holster.“I nearly shot you in the frickin’ head, man.”

But Scout’s comment garnered no response from his fellow mercenary.Sniper was reclining against a flat, angled rock, his slouch hat pulled low over his eyes.In his lap was an unopened paperback book, and beside him sat a coffee mug and a thermos.He was the textbook definition of relaxed.

Maybe a little _too_ relaxed, Scout thought with alarm.Ah, God, Sniper was dead.He was dead, and since his body was still here, that meant they were out of respawn range—maybe if Scout hurried, he could fetch Medic and—

Then a soft, almost inaudible sound reached Scout’s ears.

Snoring.

Scout had to roll his eyes at how big a dumbass he was being today.His comrade wasn’t dead, merely sunning himself and enjoying a little cat nap.Well, Scout wouldn’t bother him, then.And surely Sniper wouldn’t mind if Scout stayed up here with him, right?There was plenty of rock to go around.Sniper was a man who valued his privacy—even Scout could figure that one out—but then again, Sniper would probably appreciate someone watching his back while he napped.If the coffee by his side and the book in his lap were any indication, he probably _hadn’t_ planned on dozing off.

Scout made up his mind to stay atop the rock.As quietly as he could, he sat down and pulled his art supplies from his backpack.He flipped his drawing pad to a clean page and fished a pencil from one of his many zippered pouches.

Truthfully, he’d planned on sketching the landscape.He didn’t really _do_ landscapes, but he wanted to try one.A lot of the mercs complained about how the New Mexico desert was barren and ugly, but Scout thought it had a kind of charm to it.It couldn’t hold a candle to the New England countryside, especially in the fall when the leaves turned, but the desert was kinda cool in its own way.Scrub trees, cacti, tumbleweed (which Scout hadn’t thought was a real thing until he’d joined RED), rock formations of all sizes and hues, soft sand and red clay, strange wildlife scurrying around…it was pretty aesthetically pleasing, to be honest.

And from his high perch, Scout had a good view of all of that.He penciled in a horizon line, then started to sketch out some of the rocks in the distance.As he worked, he kept glancing over to Sniper, like he expected the Australian to stop breathing and keel over at any second.Scout stared until he was certain he saw the steady rise and fall of the other man’s chest, then he’d go back to his drawing.

His pencil froze in mid-stroke as a sound crept to Scout’s ears, but it only took him a fraction of a second to recognize it as Sniper mumbling, his voice husky and coated with sleep.Scout turned his head to look at him, and Sniper was very clearly still napping—he was talking in his sleep.

“Ah, Mum, I said I’d go get more before Dad gets home, stop yer worryin’,” Sniper grumbled dreamily, his foot giving a little twitch. 

Scout had to suck his lips into his mouth and hold his breath to keep from laughing.Sniper, the big bad assassin, the riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, was a sleep-talker.That, or this was a one-time thing and Scout had just been extremely lucky to witness it.Either way, Scout was glad he’d heard this rare glimpse into Sniper’s private life.

And the more he thought about it, Scout realized he’d never seen Sniper so…so _vulnerable_ before, hell, he hardly saw the man at all.To see him like this…it was…

Inspiring.

Scout flipped to a new page in his drawing pad and began to sketch the general shapes of Sniper’s body, his other work-in-progress all but forgotten as he turned his attention to something much more interesting. 

 

****

 

It surprised Scout how quickly he was able to get the sketch done.Well, not _done_ , but complete enough that he could fill in what was left (details on Sniper’s hands, things like that) without having to look at a reference.Usually, he’d burnt up half an eraser and ruined at least one sheet of paper by now.Maybe it was so easy because he had a real-life, perfectly still model? 

Heh.Calling Sniper his “model.”Sniper’d slice his head off with that weird curvy knife of his if he ever heard Scout calling him that.

It was a good thing he was nearly done sketching, because not five minutes after he got the important parts drawn, Sniper was fidgeting and sighing as he started to wake up.Scout’s body stiffened.If Sniper so much as heard a peep out of him over here, he’d be liable to shoot first and ask questions later.Scout didn’t exactly know the safest way to announce his presence, but he knew enough to stay silent while Sniper awoke.

Sniper blinked slowly, squeezing his eyes shut each time, taking in deep breaths.After a few seconds, he knocked his slouch hat back to its rightful position atop his head and sat up straight.A low, drawn-out groan rumbled up from his chest.

“Ah, piss,” he muttered, slipping his fingertips under his glasses and rubbing at his eyes.Judging by that reaction, he really _hadn’t_ meant to nod off.

It was at that moment when Scout realized he was holding his breath.And he kinda, uh, needed to breathe again.He had no choice but to loudly fill his lungs with air.

Then several things happened at once.

Sniper’s head snapped toward the sound with an almost inhuman deftness, his normally half-lidded eyes opened wide with panic.Seeing that he wasn’t alone, but not yet registering that the intruder was friendly, Sniper jammed his hand beneath his vest. 

_Shit_ , Scout thought, locking a white-knuckle grip on the edges of his drawing pad, using his heels to push against the ground and scrabble backward.From behind his vest, Sniper produced a…what the hell was _that_ thing?

The whatever-it-was was halfway to Sniper’s lips before he paused.He took a moment to stare at Scout, then eased the weapon back into his vest.

Scout had meant to say some form of apology for frightening the other man, some kind of consolation, but what came flying out of his mouth instead was, “What the hell _was_ that thing, a frickin’ _blow gun_ or sum’n?!”

Apparently realizing that Scout didn’t intend to sink a butterfly knife between his vertebrae, Sniper’s posture sagged. 

“Sorry, mate,” Sniper mumbled.“Y’took me by surprise, is all…what’re you doin’ up here, anyhow?”

Scout racked his brain to think up a good lie, but seeing as he was holding a drawing pad and surrounded by a shrine of art supplies, it wouldn’t do him a hell of a lot of good.He sighed.

“Just wanted to come up here ’n’ draw,” he shrugged.

Sniper nodded once. 

“Right, then.”

He settled back onto the rock and cracked open his book, bending one of his legs at the knee and drawing it toward his chest. 

For a moment, Scout was dumbfounded.He didn’t know what he’d expected Sniper to do in response to Scout’s intrusion, but it wasn’t _that_.Really, Scout was surprised Sniper didn’t demand that the younger man get the hell off his rock and leave him be.Okay, maybe Sniper didn’t _own_ the rock, but he’d gotten there first, so it was kinda like he had dibs.Be that as it may, he really didn’t seem to care either way if Scout stayed or went.

Well, then, Scout would stay.He picked up his pencil, which he’d apparently dropped when scrambling away from Sniper’s blow gun, and resumed drawing.

 

****

 

It was no secret that Scout liked to talk, and sitting here in silence was eating away at him.It just made matters worse that Scout didn’t know a whole lot about Sniper; that just meant he had about a gajillion more questions he could ask.But he knew better than to open his mouth and start yapping.For one, Sniper wasn’t exactly what you’d call chatty, and for another, the Australian was engrossed in his reading.Scout didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere by attempting conversation.It was almost like the two of them were hanging out together.Almost.

Sniper propped his book open against his knee and poured himself some more coffee from his thermos.He brought the white ceramic to his lips, stared down into its liquidy depths for a moment, and took a deep pull from its contents.

Before he could tell himself to stop, Scout’s pencil was zipping across the paper, seemingly with a mind of its own.Within a couple minutes, he had another (very) rough sketch of Sniper beside the first one, this one capturing the other man drinking moodily from his coffee mug. 

As soon as he drew it, Scout was more than a little ashamed of himself, since he was more-or-less invading Sniper’s privacy by drawing the man without his permission.Scout’s hand lingered over the page, threatening to descend upon the paper and rip it to shreds, but he just couldn’t.He was actually pleased with how the two drawings came out.A little outlining and some color, and they’d look really nice.He decided to push the feeling of guilt to the back of his mind.

Five more minutes passed in relative silence, but the hush was broken by the growling in Scout’s stomach.He’d been thirsty for the past hour, but he hadn’t wanted to reach into his bag for a soda until he was about to die.Now that his stomach was protesting, though…he’d sure like to reach into his bag and grab some of that candy he brought…

Screw it, Sniper wouldn't care if he rustled around in his bag for a minute.He pulled his backpack toward him and fished out a soda and a foot-long Pixy Stix tube.He was just about to zip the bag back up when he thought of something.

This quiet was driving him nuts.He could ask Sniper if he wanted anything from his stash; that would technically be talking, and it would also be A Nice Gesture.But did Sniper even eat candy?Which then begged the question, what kinda stuff _did_ Sniper eat?He never came to the base’s kitchen with the rest of the mercs, opting to remain locked in the comforts of his Winnebago.Once, Scout witnessed Sniper taking a banana from the kitchen’s communal fruit bowl—that would be the extent of Scout’s knowledge. 

Well, Scout never was one to back off from a conversation (confrontation?) no matter how awkward the outcome might be.He stood up and carried his backpack over to the Australian’s side.

“Hey, I got a shitload a snacks in here, if ya want some’n,” Scout said, giving his backpack an enticing little shake.“Got Astro Pops, Starburst, uh, a Zero Bar, Now ’n’ Laters…”

Once again, Sniper propped his open book against his knee, peering into the proffered bag.Wordlessly, he reached his hand into the bag and pulled out the Zero Bar.

“Thanks, mate,” he muttered, never even trying to look Scout in the eye.He peeled open the candy bar, picked his book back up, and resumed reading.

Scout would have to admit that he was surprised.He hadn’t really expected Sniper to actually take anything, since Sniper was so…reserved?Shy?Whatever the word, Scout felt a sense of accomplishment at being able to coerce Sniper into accepting his tiny offer of kindness.

He sat back down and pulled a plastic-encased comic book from his backpack.He thumbed the plastic open and slid the book out, holding it gingerly in his hands as he opened it up to the first page.

 

****

 

He was nearly through reading his third comic when Sniper finally closed his book and slipped it into a vest pocket.

“‘Bout to get dark,” Sniper muttered, hefting himself to his feet and dusting himself off.“Think I’ll head back now.”

Scout looked up.The sun hung low in the sky; it wouldn’t be more than half an hour before sunset, if Scout had to guess.That meant he’d been up on that rock for more than two hours.

“Hey, hang on a sec, I’ll come with ya,” Scout said, cramming his things back into his backpack.He scrambled to his feet and threw his bag over his shoulders. 

Sniper led the way, navigating down the rock formation with what looked like practiced familiarity.Even though he knew he probably shouldn’t pry, Scout had to ask.

“You, uh, come up here a lot?” Scout asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

Scout followed Sniper down the last bit of rock and onto the main path that led back to the base.“Quite a bit, yeah,” Sniper replied. 

For every step Sniper’s gangly legs took, Scout had to take two.He was nearly jogging to keep up with the taller man.

Before he said anything else, Scout took a second to stare at Sniper’s face.He didn’t look pissed off that Scout had asked him a question, so it might be alright to ask him some more.

“Like, every day, or…?”

“Nah,” Sniper replied, “not every day.Few times a week, maybe.”

“Yeah, I kept lookin’ at it from the base and thought it looked like I might be able to climb up it, y’know?” Scout said, falling into his old habit of filling up silence with mindless chatter.“And I thought if I could get up high enough, I could, uh…well, I could, like, look out at all a this”—he made a wide arc with both his arms—“and sketch a landscape.Or sum’n.”

“I’m surprised you can sit still long enough to draw anything, Scout,” Sniper said, his voice taking on an almost teasing tone.

“Funny story, actually,” Scout beamed, jumping at the opportunity to talk about himself, especially to someone who might be halfway interested. 

“You think I’m hyper now, you shoulda seen me in school.I was a fuckin’ hell-child.I couldn’t sit still for more than, like, five seconds, an’ I was always throwin’ shit or climbin’ on somethin’ or runnin’ all over the place. 

Most’a the time, the school’d hafta call my Ma to come get me ‘cause they couldn’t handle me.Then she’d have to take me with her back to the dry cleaners ‘cause there wasn’t no way we could afford a babysitter—

Anyway, that part ain’t the point, but like, the school told Ma that unless they could settle my ass down, they was gonna kick me out.So I had to go see the counsellor every day, right, and she’d always make me draw.Not a lot a talkin’, just mainly lettin’ me color and stuff.She gave me some paper and stuff to take home with me so I could keep drawin’ if I wanted to.And I got real into it, I guess? 

They made me keep goin’ to the counsellor’s office every day till I graduated high school, and she kept wantin’ to see what I drew and kept givin’ me more supplies when I ran out, and like…I guess it was a hobby I never knew I had?‘Cause I still kept drawin’ every day even when I didn’t have to show it to nobody.And I _still_ draw every day.It’s, uh…I dunno.Fun?Kinda?”

Sniper seemed to ponder this barrage of speech for a moment.

“Therapeutic, maybe,” he said thoughtfully.

“Maybe, yeah, I dunno,” Scout said, not sure how he felt about using the word ‘therapeutic’ to describe it.Kinda made him sound like he was crazy, or something.“Well, wha’bout you, Snipes?Were you, like, homeschooled, or somethin’?‘Cause didn’t you grow up in the outback, or—“

“The bush, actually,” Sniper said.“There’s, er, a bit of a difference between the outback and the bush.”

Scout had half-expected Sniper to ignore the question entirely or mutter some noncommittal answer under his breath, but Sniper had gone above and beyond—he offered up a rare glimpse of his life before RED.Scout jumped at the opportunity while he still could.

“Yeah?I ain’t ever even heard of the bush.”

“The outback’s more…well, it’s a bit like New Mexico, actually,” Sniper said.“Plenty of desert, not enough rain to grow anything.The bush has loads of trees, plants, animals…”

“Bushes?”

The corners of Sniper’s mouth twitched into an almost-smile.“Maybe a few bushes, as well.”

“Hey, is it true there’s a buncha bugs ’n’ snakes ’n’ spiders ’n’ shit over there that’ll kill ya?Or is that a myth, or whatever?”

“It’s not a myth, that’s for sure,” Sniper said.“Got bit by a spider once and nearly lost me hand.” 

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah.Couldn’t move me fingers for nearly a month.”

“How d’you even _live_ in Australia?”

That time, Sniper did smile.“It’s like me dad used to say.You don’t live in Australia—you hide.”

Scout barked out a laugh.Sniper tried to pull his mouth back down to its trademark frown, but his eyes, which were crinkled in amusement, deceived him.

By that time, they had reached the wrought-iron gate that led to the south end of the RED base.Scout jammed his hand into his pocket, producing a keycard, and swiped it in the gate’s card-reader.The gate trundled open, granting the two men entrance.

“Y’know, I think you’ve said more to me in these past couple hours than you have, like, _ever_ ,” Scout said. 

Sniper merely hummed in response as he veered off the paved driveway that led up to the main RED base, instead taking a much narrower dirt path that led toward his Winnebago.Without really thinking about it, Scout trotted along after him.

“You don’t have to walk me home, mate,” Sniper said, “I think I’ll manage.”

Scout’s cheeks burned in embarrassment.Overhead, the sky was orange and pink and purple with the setting sun; maybe the hazy colors would camouflage Scout’s red face from Sniper’s eyes.

“Nah, I wasn’t walkin’ ya _home,_ or nuttin’ like that, I was just—!“ 

The rest of his argument died in his throat as he noticed a small, splotchy shape shifting around on top of Sniper’s Winnebago.He squinted at it, but when he couldn’t tell what it was, he pointed.

“Hey, what the hell’s that up there, you seein’ that?”

They were still a good forty feet away from the van, but Sniper barely took the time to glance at the mysterious shape before he answered.“Oh, er…well, I know we’re not supposed to have pets on the base, but…”

“Ah, that’s bullshit,” Scout said, flapping a dismissive hand.“Medic’s got all those birds in his office, hell, Soldier’s got frickin’ _raccoons_ livin’ right over there”—Scout pointed in some random direction over his shoulder—“Ain’t nobody gonna say nuttin’ about you havin’ a…”

Scout squinted again.They were almost to the edge of the van, but he still couldn’t tell what it was.

“Owl,” Sniper mumbled.

“Owl?!” Scout repeated.He ran the rest of the way to the camper to have a better look.Sure enough, perched atop the camper was a squat little brown owl.It peered down at him with haunting, red eyes.

Of course Sniper’d have to have a weird, demonic pet.Scout didn’t know shit about owls, but he knew they weren’t supposed to have red eyes like that.

“The hell’s wrong with his eyeballs?” he asked when Sniper joined him at his side.

“I’m not sure,” Sniper admitted.“He’s not blind, I know that.’N’ he’s got pupils, they’re just a darker red.They dilate when you shine a light in ‘em.Guess the little bloke was just born that way.”

Scout was about to say something to the effect of that being creepy, or something, when Sniper crooked his arm and held it at chest height in front of him.

“Oi,” he shouted up at the owl.“Come down ‘ere ’n’ show Scout what a smart bird you are.” 

Sniper made a series of clicking noises with his tongue, which, for some reason, made Scout’s scalp prickle.The owl swiveled its head to stare down at Sniper with what looked like disdain, but it begrudgingly spread its wings and fluttered down to Sniper’s outstretched arm, anyway.

Scout’s eyes widened.“No frickin’ way,” he said, a wide grin nearly splitting his face in half.“How’d ya make that thing listen to ya like that?”

Sniper scratched the top of the owl’s head.“Guess he think’s I’m his mum.Found the lil shit when he was just this big,” he said, indicating four or five inches with a spread thumb and forefinger.“Stuck in some scrub grass, he was.Thought he may’ve fell from his nest, but there weren’t any nests ‘round.Dunno how he got there, but I couldn’t just leave ‘im there to die.”Sniper shrugged. 

Scout wanted to say about a hundred things at once in response to that, but ninety-nine of those things sounded way too sappy and saccharine.He settled on, “That was awful nice o’ ya, Snipes.”

Obviously not someone who was accustomed to compliments, Sniper merely grunted.

“Y’wanna pet ‘im?” Sniper said, holding his owl-clad arm out to Scout. 

Scout took an instinctive step back.Ma never let him or any of his brothers have pets when they were little (the apartment was plenty crowded without one), so he didn’t really know how to act around animals.

“Uh,” he said, torn between relishing the limited opportunity to interact with Sniper and the apprehension at touching something alive and foreign.“He ain’t gonna bite me or nuttin’, is he?”

Scout nearly fainted in shock when he heard Sniper give a genuine, shoulder-shaking laugh.It was a low, throaty sound that seemed to Scout to be winded and out-of-practice.In a way, it was haunting, like the last sound you hear before some ethereal cryptid emerges from the shadows and slices your neck open.Scout’s forearms erupted in goosebumps.

“Birds don’t have teeth, Scout,” Sniper said through his laughter.

_How the hell’m I supposed to know that?_ Scout thought haughtily, but he didn’t voice that aloud.“Awright, well, is he gonna peck me or scratch me or sum’n?”

Sniper edged the owl closer to Scout.“He fancies head scratches,” he said, as if that answered the question Scout had just asked.

Scout had never seen Sniper like this before.The older man’s eyes were, dare he say, _glittering_ in anticipation.For whatever reason, Sniper really wanted him to pet that damn bird.

Face contorting in a grimace, Scout reached his hand out, hovering his palm a few inches from the owl.When he wasn’t bitten—pecked, _whatever_ —he lowered his hand down and ruffled the downy feathers on the owl’s head.

The owl’s red eyes slid closed in delight.

“I think he likes you, mate,” Sniper said as Scout continued the head-petting.“You like him, yeah?” Sniper said, talking to the owl now.“Why don’t you go over and say hullo, then?”

Sniper extended a forefinger and gave the bird a little nudge.The owl cracked his eyes open and gave an indignant little hoot, just before beating his wings and lighting atop Scout’s shoulder.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” Scout babbled, shoulders hunched against the owl’s talons squeezing him.“He’s gonna kill me, Snipes, get ‘im offa me, ohmigod, ohmigod—“

The owl swiveled his head and nipped the top of Scout’s ear.It didn’t hurt—at all—but Scout yelped anyway.

“ _I thought you said he wasn’t gonna frickin’ bite me, man!”_ Scout wailed, his eyes wild with the fear of impending death.

“He does that sometimes,” Sniper said calmly.“It means he likes you.”

“Yeah, you keep sayin’ he likes me, but that ain’t really the impression I’m gettin’,” Scout said, frowning.

Sniper held his forearm back out and gave a few clicks of his tongue.The owl hopped back to Sniper’s arm, where Sniper rewarded him by scratching him at the base of his wings.

“Naughty thing,” he chided as the owl hooted softly.“Sorry, mate,” Sniper said, looking at Scout.

Though there wasn’t anything there, Scout dusted off his shoulder where the owl had been.“Nah, s’awright, I just, I ain’t ever been around animals before.”

“Really,” Sniper said, furrowing his brow.Was that pity in the older man’s eyes?“Don’t suppose I’ve ever been _without_ a critter of some kind to keep me company.”

“That’s cause you grew up in the woods,” Scout said matter-of-factly.“I grew up in the city—in Boston.There ain’t many, uh, _critters_ there.”

The owl flapped its wings and flew back up to its perch on top of the camper van.“Never was one for the city,” Sniper mumbled, the owl seeming to take Sniper’s confidence along with him.

“Ya don’t say,” Scout deadpanned. 

Suddenly, Sniper craned his head up and looked at the sky.“Oh,” he said with mild surprise.“It’s past sunset already.”

Scout knew a cue to leave when he heard one.At least he’d been saved from floundering some kind of excuse to head back to the base.

“Yeah, I better get goin’,” Scout said.“I got laundry to do before tomorrow, anyway.Thanks for the, uh, bird…lesson.”

That awkward comment awarded him with a tiny smile from Sniper.“Sure.”

Scout opened his mouth to say words of parting, but he thought of one more thing he needed to mention before he left.“Hey, you won’t, uh, tell the guys about me drawin’ and readin’ comics and shit, will ya?”

Sniper regarded him with a look of mild confusion.“Why would I do that?”

Scout shrugged.“I dunno, ‘cause…’cause they’d laugh at me, and…”When he said it out loud, it did sound kind of ridiculous; Sniper wouldn’t ever partake in water-cooler gossip to begin with, and he also knew the value of one’s privacy.Scout’s secret would be safe with the older man, and Scout knew it.

“Suppose I won’t tell ‘em about you, if you won’t go tellin’ anybody I’ve been readin’ romance novels, yeah?” Sniper muttered, averting his gaze.

Scout knew Sniper had been reading a book, but he hadn’t even known what kind.He decided it best not to mention this fact. 

“No problem,” Scout said, “I’m the best secret-keeper ever, like for real.”

Sniper gave a tiny scoff, but didn’t add anything to that.They stood there in awkward silence for a couple seconds before Scout came to his senses.

“Hey, maybe we’ll see each other this weekend, or sum’n,” Scout said.“Monday, for sure.”

“Yeah,” Sniper said with a single nod of his head.

“Later, Snipes,” Scout said, giving Sniper a little wave as he turned on his heel.He barely caught the ‘later’ Sniper mumbled in reply as he took off running for the base, his mind in a frenzy from the extent of the afternoon’s events.

He had just hung out with Sniper.

Sniper, for God’s sake. 

_Sniper._

He didn’t know why, but his chest swelled with pride at this thought.He entered the base through the back patio’s sliding glass door, a smug smile plastered to his face as he made his way back to his bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

He couldn’t believe he nearly shot Scout with a fucking blow gun.

Blow guns were lightweight, easily portable, discreet…the perfect little projectile weapon to take along with you if you were just going a stone’s throw away from the base.He’d been out to that rock formation loads of times, and he’d never come across any danger; no sense in carting a cumbersome .308 rifle or a submachine gun up there, really.

And anyway, if he really _had_ shot Scout, the poison he’d tipped the darts with was his own all-natural, non-lethal blend.He would’ve been paralyzed for a few hours, but that was better than being dead, yeah?

Several things about that Friday afternoon kept running through his head, not just the bit with the blow gun.It was almost like a mantra.And here he was, still fretting over them two days later.

For example:right after Sniper made the discovery that he had company on top of the rock, his hands shook and his teeth chattered so badly that there was no way Scout hadn’t noticed it.Sniper kept sneaking peeks at the other man, to try and judge his facial expressions, but Scout had been completely engrossed in his artwork and his comics.

Frankly, Sniper was impressed that Scout managed to remain in a stationary position long enough to enjoy either of those hobbies.Sniper didn’t go inside the base much, except to do his laundry and borrow a book from the rec room on occasion; he only ever really saw Scout on the battlefield, little more than a red blur through the scope of his rifle.He’d never seen someone run so fast and jump so high in all his life.With that kind of talent, Scout could’ve easily been a bloody Olympian, not to mention he was obviously crazy about baseball.It made Sniper wonder why, out of all the different careers Scout could’ve pursued, why he hell he ever chose to become a mercenary.

As soon as he thought it, though, Sniper felt like an idiot.Of course he knew why Scout chose this job, because the reasons were the same for everyone:the money, and the fact that it was one of the few options in life you had left.

You didn’t go to RED—RED came to you, at your lowest of the low, wafting a briefcase full of cold, hard cash under your nose with the promise of much more to come.You simply had to agree to become a part of an experimental government program disguised as what the locals called “the gravel war.”Kill and be killed.Have all your atoms deconstructed, whisked across the battlefield in a fine red mist, and put back together in a little glass coffin called “the respawn chamber.”Take a few minutes to get your wits about you, then step back out into the dirt and do it all over again.

That was far from all there was to it, but they were told not to ask too many questions about it, unless they wanted to die and _not_ respawn.Sniper didn’t really care either way.He liked sniping, and now he could do it guilt-free.Sure, getting shot and stabbed and blown up and burned alive was no fun, but he’d gotten used to it.And the money had been enough to…well, he didn’t wanna think about all that at the moment, it brought back too many sad memories.He _did_ get to trade in his disgusting old camper van for a brand-new Winnebago, which was nice.He never thought he’d be able to afford something like that.Now he could buy a hundred of ‘em, if he wanted.

Funny, that.

The feeling of something knocking into his shins jarred him from his daydreaming.His hand spasmed and reached for the pocket knife stashed in his trouser pocket (no kukri swinging from his hip in public places—apparently that was frowned upon in the States) before he came to his senses.A quick glance over to his left let him know that it had just been a little girl zipping down the aisle, her hands outstretched as she ran. 

_I’m so ridiculous,_ Sniper thought with small shake of his head.

Public places made him anxious in the first place, but it was all the worse due to what he was shopping for.He’d put off buying it for as long as he could, but he was completely out of…

…yarn.

Bloody _yarn_.Why’d Mum have to go and get him started knitting, anyhow?Well, at least it was a useful hobby. 

He put skein after skein of red yarn in his shopping basket, planning on getting a head start on his winter wardrobe.New Mexican winters were right brutal, and he liked to have a sweater underneath his coat and a scarf looped round his neck during those numbingly freezing days on the battlefield.

He supposed he could just go out and _buy_ a sweater and scarf, but that just wasn’t the same thing.He couldn’t explain it.And anyway, he hated shopping for clothes, and only did it when he absolutely had to.

At the thought of another winter sneaking up on his cold-sensitive Australian bones, Sniper stuffed more yarn into his basket, grabbing a few different colors that went well together (well, in _his_ mind, they went together; who knew about anyone else’s), until no more would physically fit inside it.There was a middle-aged woman hovering uncomfortably close to him, and Sniper could feel her eyes sliding all over him.He knew she was staring, wondering what he could possibly want with all that yarn, what his malicious intentions were.That, or the woman was trying to crowd him out of the aisle so she could stand in his spot.Unable to take the scrutiny any longer, he grabbed three more rolls of yarn at random, tucked them under his arm, and made a beeline for the cash register.

But the person standing behind the counter wasn’t the doddering old man that usually attended to him.It was a young girl—so young, Sniper highly doubted it was even legal for her to be working there.Sniper had never seen her there before, but then again, it had been more than a month since he’d come into the hobby store.

A wave of panicked thoughts shot their way through his brain, dozens of them all at once.His feet faltered, and to save face, he pretended to be engrossed in a rack of nearby knitting patterns.He picked one up at random and feigned interest in it as his brain warred with itself.

_I can’t do this_.

_Yes you can, stop bein’ a wuss and just put your basket up on the counter.It ain’t brain surgery._

_But what if she says some snide little comment about all me yarn?_

_And what of it, yeah?It’s her damn job to be a cashier.You’re a paying customer.If she don’t like what you’re buying, she can bloody well get over it._

_Surely she’ll try and make conversation about it, though, they always do—_

_Do ya want the yarn or not?_

_Yes, I want the yarn…_

_Well, you’re gonna have to buy the yarn, then, mate._

_Piss._

Once he’d taken a moment to calm himself, he walked up to the counter and sat his things down.He noticed he’d forgotten to put the knitting pattern back that he’d been pretending to look at.Ah, well.Too late now.He’d buy it, he supposed.

“Hi, how’re you?” the cashier asked, grinning at him.

“‘M fine, you?” Sniper said, his voice coming out flat and clipped.

“Good.”

She rang up his yarn and his pattern and loaded it up into three brown paper sacks.Sniper handed her some money.She handed back his change.

“Have a good one.”

“Yeah.You, too.”

He clutched the bags in his arms and nearly tripped over himself trying to get out the door.

Fucking…piss. _Piss._ Why did such stupid—stupid little _common_ things like that bother him so much?He sat his bags near his feet as he dug his car keys from his pocket, and his hands were shaking so badly that he dropped them.Growling in irritation at himself, he scooped them up from the ground, jammed the key into the lock, and hurled himself and his packages into the car.

As he started his car engine, he felt a pang of… _some_ kind of useless emotion in his chest.It wasn’t too long ago that, when he’d get himself good and worked up, Mum and Dad were always a phone call away; he’d use the phone inside the base and give ‘em a ring whenever he felt like this.He’d always start the conversation about something mundane, something silly, but Mum and Dad always knew something was up.They knew all about his…whatever it was.Mum always called it his “frazzled nerves,” but Sniper hadn’t a clue what the technical term for that would be.Every time he called after one of his “bouts” (another term coined by Mum), they were more than glad to talk him down from it.

But he could call the farmhouse back in Australia all he liked.No one would be there to answer the phone.

He gripped his hands tighter on the wheel and steered his car back to the base.

 

****

 

“Hey, are you knittin’?” Scout asked.Before Sniper could even reply, Scout followed that up with, “What’s it gonna be when ya done with it, a sweater?”The younger man’s Bostonian accent laid thick and heavy over that last word, and Sniper had to take half a second to comprehend what “sweddah” meant.

As the hands on Sniper’s watch steadily ticked toward five o’ clock that Monday, he found himself wondering more than once if Scout would come back out to the rock formation.That previous Friday, Scout had said something like “I might see you this weekend, but Monday for sure.”Maybe he was just meaning that they might run into each other at work (which rarely happened)—or maybe he implied he was coming back up to the rock to draw or read his comic books.Sniper supposed it didn’t really matter.He wanted to go back up there after work, regardless.

But loathe though he was to admit it, he was sort of hoping he might have a bit of company when he went.

He nearly didn’t bring his knitting paraphernalia with him, but he’d grabbed his wicker basket full of yarn and needles and various other bits and bobs at the last minute.He probably looked like a lunatic, carting a basket of yarn about the desert, but no one would see him, anyhow.

No one but Scout, that is, and Scout had a secret of his own he wanted to keep hidden; for whatever odd reason, he didn’t want their coworkers knowing he liked to draw and read comics.Both were perfectly respectable hobbies, Sniper thought, but what did he know. 

“Yeah,” Sniper nodded, though how Scout could tell what it was going to be from the two inches he’d completed of the sweater, he wasn’t sure.“Won’t be this hot out for long.”

Scout moved his pencil across his drawing pad in an elaborate circular motion.“Didja go outside last night, like past sundown?I could see my frickin’ breath out there.”

“It does get cold at night,” Sniper agreed, his metal knitting needles ticking softly against one another as he worked.“No matter how hot it is during the day.”

“Yeah, that ain’t how weather works back in Boston, I know that.”

“Gets awfully cold here in winter,” Sniper said, not really sure why he was talking to Scout about the weather, of all the enthralling subjects, but he decided to go with it.“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

“Does it ever snow in Australia?”

Scout’s question seemed to come from nowhere, but Sniper was glad to answer it.“Not very often, it don’t.” 

A smile crept to Sniper’s lips at the memory of the first time he’d ever seen snow with his own two eyes.He’d been eleven years old.Mum and Dad let him skive off from school to play around in it, though there couldn’t have been more than an inch of the stuff on the ground.

God, he missed them both so much.

“And ain’t it like, like the seasons are backwards over there, or sum’n, like winter’s in summer, or—?”

“Sort of, yeah.Australian summer starts in January, ’n’ the seasons carry on from there.How hot it is right now, out here, this is nothin’ compared to back home.Real common for it to get up to forty-five degrees out in the bush.”

Scout glanced up from his drawing pad for a brief moment, then continued his sketching.“Forty-five degrees is chilly, man.Like last night was prob’ly forty-five degrees.”

“What—oh,” Sniper said, understanding now.“No, I’m meanin’ forty-five degrees _Celsius_ , mate.”He grinned.

“‘Kay, well here in America we use Fahrenheit, so I don’t know none a that Celsius shit.”

“It’d be about…”Sniper’s knitting needles paused as he did some mental math.“Oh, ‘bout a hundred and ten, hundred and fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, or there’bouts.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Scout said, staring incredulously at Sniper.“How the hell’s ya frickin’ _brain_ not melt when ya go outside?”

“Once I was wearin’ thongs— _flip-flops_ ,” Sniper clarified, at the sight of Scout’s sly grin and raised eyebrows.“And the bottoms of ‘em melted right into the bloomin’ sidewalk.”

“Ohmigod, ya kiddin’ me, I’d a flipped the fuck out.”

“It hurt me feelin’s, honestly,” Sniper said, barely able to stifle a laugh as he thought back to that (mostly) horrid trip he’d gone on twenty years ago.“I only got to go to the coast three or four times a year, on account a we lived in the middle a nowhere, yeah?An’ I knew Mum ’n’ Dad’d make me go home if they sawr all the blisters on the bottoms of me feet, so I had to try ’n’ walk without limpin’ the whole holiday.”

“Least you got to _go_ on a vacation,” Scout said, swapping his pencil for a fine-tipped ink pen.“I got seven older brothers, man, we were always too broke for shit like that.”

Sniper looked up from his knitting.“ _Seven_?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“An’ me makes eight,” Scout nodded gravely.

“Your poor mum.”

“Yeah, she…Ma did the best she could with us, though, I ain’t complainin’,” Scout said, his voice suddenly growing serious.Just the sound of it, so unnatural, made a sick feeling well in Sniper’s gut—but there was also something about that change in tone, like a flip of a switch, that made Sniper cling to every word.

“She worked a twelve-hour shift at the dry cleaners every day ‘cept Sunday,” Scout continued, the ink pen cradled in his idle hand.A wan smile crept to his face.“She ain’t gotta do that no more, though.”

“Why not?” Sniper asked before he could stop himself.As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could have them back; it was absolutely none of his damn business why not.

But Scout didn’t seem to mind.“I send her money every month,” he said simply.“She won’t hafta work another day in her life, I made sure a that.”

That was something Sniper could understand from experience.“I used to send Mum and Dad money every month, as well, yeah.”

“How come you don’t no more?”

“They, er…they died.”

Scout visibly winced.“Ah, shit, I’m sorry man, I didn’t know.”

“’S fine,” Sniper mumbled.

Awkward silence fell between the two of them.The only sounds breaking the monotony were the droning of insects, Sniper’s knitting needles clacking against one another, and Scout’s ink pen scritching across paper.

After a good two minutes of quiet, Scout blurted, “I don’t even know who my dad _is_ , though _._ ”His pen fell still as he stared out at the vast expanse of desert.“Not tryin’ to one-up ya, or nuttin’, I…I just mean, it…y’know.Musta been nice to have both.” 

Sniper looked over to the younger man, watched as Scout chewed fretfully at his lower lip.He looked so pitiful sitting there with that puppy-in-a-puddle look that Sniper felt compelled to say something he’d never told anyone—never even felt the want or need to tell anyone, at that.

“I was adopted.”

Scout’s eyes widened.He opened and shut his mouth a couple times before settling on what to say.“So the mom ’n’ dad ya always talkin’ about, that ain’t…”He looked at Sniper pointedly, in lieu of finishing the rest of his sentence.

“Nope,” Sniper said.“They found me when I was about a month old.Out in the middle a nowhere, I was.It’s a wonder a dingo didn’t eat me.”Sniper chuckled a little at his self-deprecating joke, but Scout looked downright horrified. 

“Ya real parents, they just _left_ ya somewhere?”

There was quite a bit more to the story than that, Sniper thought to himself, but that was the gist of it. 

“More or less, yeah,” Sniper said.“Mum ’n’ Dad—the folks I _call_ Mum ’n’ Dad, I suppose—they couldn’t have kids of their own, so they were more’n happy to take me in.’N’ they were in their forties when they found me, so…”Sniper shrugged.“It ain’t all that tragic that they’ve passed on, really.The both of ‘em lived a long ’n’ happy life.Dad died in ‘is sleep, ’n’ Mum died in hers the next night.Weren’t nothin’ that sad abou’ it, it’s just a fact o’ life.”

“Well, ya real parents were obviously either assholes or crazy, so you were prob’ly better off without ‘em, for real.”

“I’ve met them, actually,” Sniper said with a wry smile.“Just last year.I didn’t find out about Mum ’n’ Dad not bein’ me birth parents till after they died.’N’ then one thing led to another ’n’ I ended up meetin’ my real ones.”

“Seriously?What, uh, what’re they like?”

“Oh, they’re right arseholes,” Sniper laughed.“Suppose it stings a bit if I think too hard abou’ it, y’know—abou’ how me own parents didn’t want me, but…two perfect strangers came along an’ didn’t owe me a thing, coulda left me there for dead and it’d be no skin off their noses.But they took me in an’ raised me like their own.That makes up for it.”

“Yeah, I know all about thinkin’ ya not wanted,” Scout nodded, the hangdog expression returning to his face for a split second before he forced himself to make a more cheerful look.“So you’re an only child, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Lucky bastard,” Scout laughed.“Shit sucks when you’re the youngest outta seven, lemme tell ya.You ain’t gettin’ _nuttin_ ’ new, first of all, ya ass is gettin’ hand-me-downs that went through seven others before it got to you.And ya better get used to cold showers, cause guess what, ya ain’t _never_ gonna get to take a hot one—“

Sniper listened to Scout complain about his eccentric cast of older brothers, thankful to have a change of subject.Talking about Mum and Dad was sad, and Scout’s “I know all about thinking you’re not wanted” comment was even sadder.It still echoed in Sniper’s mind.Scout had mentioned earlier that he didn’t know who his father was…and being the last-born of eight children must come with some guilt attached, Sniper assumed.Why were you the child that made your mum stop having kids, if she’d had seven already?Or, how could she _possibly_ want another one when she’s already got so many others to take care of?No doubt, Scout had probably thought those very things, and then some, about himself. 

Scout _claimed_ he hated living in a crowded apartment with his brothers, but he certainly had plenty of stories to tell about them.Not a single one of them knew who their real dad was with any amount of certainty.His oldest brother, Anthony, was the only one who had something akin to a father; every year on Anthony's birthday, a mystery man named Robert would send him a card with a five-dollar bill tucked inside.

“Better than anything I ever got from _my_ dad, which was a big fat nothin’,” Scout said.“Ehh, that might be a lie, actually.Ma says this came from my dad, but I ain’t really buyin’ it.”When he said the word “this,” he jingled the dog tags hanging from his neck.He grabbed the tags in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the metal.“Whatever was on it’s been filed off, scratched out, sum’n.Ma prob’ly got it at the five and dime, just told me it used to be my dad’s to make me feel better, but…”Shrug.Forced half-smile.“Heh, whatever, I guess.”

This conversation was veering off into dangerous territory again, but Sniper couldn’t help but tell the story about how, when the first time he’d met his real dad, the man said he’d been waiting to ask his son something for a long, long time…

…could he borrow some money?

“I couldn’t just say _no_ , on account of I was too shocked ’n’ everybody was lookin’ at me all strange-like, so I had to pull me wallet out ’n' gave him some,” Sniper admitted. 

“Wouldn’t a gave that bastard _dick_ ,” Scout said through a mouthful.He’d sat his drawing pad aside and taken a box of Cracker Jacks from his backpack.He held the box out to Sniper.“Want some?”

Sniper sat his knitting in his lap and held his hands out.“Yeah, why not.Toss ‘em ‘ere.”

 

****

 

Somehow, someway, Scout had talked Sniper into reading some of his comic books.

Not twenty minutes after the two of them parted company later that evening, Sniper heard the distant chirp of someone whistling, the sound permeating the thin walls of his camper.When the source of the whistling grew nearer, he recognized the tune— _“Good Vibrations,”_ he thought, rising from his armchair.

The whistling stopped, replaced by a familiar voice hollering on the other side of the Winnebago’s entrance.“Hey, Snipes, I ain’t got any free hands, ya mind openin’ this door for me?”

Sniper opened the door, greeted by a Scout smiling so big, the younger man’s face was in danger of splitting in half.A large cardboard box—almost too large to wedge through the narrow doorway, Sniper noted as he stepped aside to allow Scout to climb into the camper—was clutched to his chest.

“‘Kay, I’ve been thinkin’ about this long an’ hard,” Scout said, sitting the box down on the coffee table and collapsing onto the couch.“An’ I’ve finally decided what ya oughta read first.”

This was the first time Sniper had ever had a guest inside his camper.He’d been worried that Scout might make some comments about how small or cramped or stuffy it was in here, but Scout had quite literally marched in and made himself at home.Sniper thought about making a little quip about Scout’s brazenness, but he didn’t want to come off as rude.It was actually a relief that Scout hadn’t made the whole “welcome-to-my-home-make-yourself-comfortable” thing drawn-out and awkward.They’d skipped right over all of those formalities, and Sniper was all the happier for it.

Ah, but there was one formality he couldn’t skip over, else Mum and Dad would roll over in their graves. 

“Would ya like a drink?” he asked, feeling for all the world like an idiot.He’d never had company, _ever_ , but you were supposed to ask them if they’d like something to drink, that much he did know.

“Nah, I don’t drink, it makes my legs feel weird,” Scout said.“I mean, thanks, an’ everything, but I’m gonna pass.”

_Shit_ , Sniper thought.He’d worded that wrong.“A drink” usually indicated alcohol.He should’ve said “something _to_ drink,” which could mean either spirits or normal beverages.Shit, _shit_ , he was an idiot.

“No, er, that came out wrong,” he said, his hand wandering over to his right wrist, scratching absently.“I meant a normal drink.I’ve got coffee I’ve just made.’N’ there’s a Coke ’n’ some Kool-Aid in the fridge.”

“Are we talkin’ _regular_ Kool-Aid or that sugar-water shit they ration the base with?” Scout asked cautiously.

“I bought it from the market,” Sniper shrugged.

That piqued Scout’s interest.He flashed his buck teeth in a grin.“What flavor Kool-Aid?”

“Cherry.”

“Oh man, it’s been like three years since I had a glass a real Kool-Aid,” Scout said, pulling the box of comics toward him.“Yeah, pour me a glass, if ya offerin’.”

This was yet another situation that could’ve been uncomfortable, but wasn’t.Sniper remembered back at the farmhouse in Australia, when his Mum would have a few of the ladies from church over every Sunday afternoon for refreshments and knitting.Mum would make tea, and when she offered it, all her friends would crow, “oh, no, no, I couldn’t possibly trouble you,” until Mum served them a cup, anyhow.Even with the drink in their hands, they still insisted on the fact that they weren’t thirsty, please don’t bother, I’m fine.Sniper never understood the sense in all that, and was _quite_ glad for Scout to be so quick to accept his small token of hospitality.He walked the five steps needed to go from the living area to the kitchenette and fixed Scout a glass of Kool-Aid.He poured himself a mug of coffee and headed back to the couch.

“Aw, look, ya even put a straw in it,” Scout said when Sniper gave him the glass, the ice clinking cheerfully against the side of the cup as it passed hands.

“Aren’t you supposed to do that?” Sniper asked, sitting down on the couch beside him.“Else you’ll stain your mouth?”

Scout stuck the straw in his mouth and took a drink.“Well, I ain’t ever drank no Kool-Aid with a straw, but it’s a smart idea, for real.”He sat the glass down directly on the tabletop, then apparently noticed the two coasters on either side of the table; before his hand even left the glass, he moved the cup over to a coaster.

“So the thing about comics is like, ya got one series that starts, and then there’s another series that’s kinda based offa that one, but different,” Scout said.“And ya gotta read _one_ first before ya read the _other_ one, or it won’t make sense.Well, sometimes it does.Some of ‘em are pretty good at explainin’ what’s goin’ on in the beginnin’.But don’t worry about all that, I got this.”

Sniper took a sip of his coffee.“Okay,” he said evenly.

Scout started to reach his hand into the cardboard box he’d brought, but he yanked his hand back.“So you ain’t ever read _any_ kinda comics, like ever?”

“Well, the ones in the newspaper, I suppose.”

“Nah, nah, them don’t count,” Scout grinned.“Awright.So.For the comic book virgin, I recommend…” 

He reached into the box and slowly pulled out a thin, yellowed comic encased in a protective plastic sleeve.He held it at its sides by his fingertips.

“Captain America number one,” Scout said, beaming like a proud parent.“March 1941.It’s a classic.If ya don’t like this, ya ain’t gonna like anything I got, that’s for sure.”

Scout held it out for Sniper to take, and Sniper really didn’t know how to hold it.Even from within its protective plastic, it looked like it’d turn to dust at the slightest touch.Sniper took it from the younger man like he might handle a baby animal.

“Think I’m too afraid to open it,” Sniper said, looking down at it.Its cover depicted Captain America punching Hitler in the face.The thing must’ve been worth a small fortune.

Scout made a _pff_ sound and flapped a dismissive hand.“Well, I mean I’d appreciate it if ya wouldn’t use it as a pot holder, or nuttin’, but comics are for readin’.It won’t hurt if ya handle it, I promise.I pull the old ones out and read ‘em all the time.”

Sitting the comic book very, _very_ carefully in his lap, Sniper peered into the cardboard box.It was full to bursting with plastic-covered volumes.How many of those did Scout expect him to read, again…?

“There must be at least a hundred in there,” Sniper mused. 

“And that ain’t even a _tenth_ of ‘em, neither,” Scout said, a hint of shame in his voice.“See why I don’t want nobody knowin’ I read these?The guys’d have a frickin’ _field_ day if they knew how many o’ these I have.They’d never lemme hear the end of it.”

“You think they’d really care how many comics you’ve got?” Sniper asked, hoping his tone didn’t come off as rude.He wasn’t meaning to be derogatory, he was merely curious.

“Mm, prob’ly.They don’t mean nothin’ by it, but they pick on me a lot.All of us get along alright, actually, don’t gemme wrong—but they like givin’ me a hard time.Think it’s cause I’m younger’n them.”He gave a half-shrug.“I just don’t wanna give ‘em any more, uh…what am I tryna say, uh…”

“Fuel for the fire?” Sniper offered.

Scout pointed at him.“Yeah, that.”

Sniper looked down at the comic in his lap again.“Are you _sure_ you want me puttin’ me grubby mitts all over these books a yours?I don’t know shit abou’ ‘em, but I can tell by lookin’ that they’re rare.”

“Just try not to spill some’n on ‘em, or whatever,” Scout assured him.“You’re not an idiot, Snipes, I think you can handle openin’ a book without rippin’ it in half.‘Sides.”Scout’s voice dropped in volume a little.“You’d be doin’ me a favor readin’ ‘em, ‘cause then I’ll have somebody to talk to about ‘em.”

Sniper had agreed to read them in the first place because Scout had been so keen on convincing him to; in a way, he’d felt like there wasn’t really another option besides saying yes.But as he looked at Scout’s collection—or rather, a small chunk of it—he had to admit that his interest had been effectively piqued. 

After all, even if it turned out he didn’t like them, there was still something else he could stand to gain from reading them.It was obvious that Scout cared deeply for the things, and if he delved into their contents, he’d likely learn more about the younger man.

Willing to learn more about a person’s interests, all for the sake of getting to know them better…this was honestly a feeling Sniper’d never harbored for another human.

“For real, though, you ain’t gotta read ‘em,” Scout said, giving Sniper a handful of comics.“I’m pushy, I know.I’m workin’ on that, I swear.”He paused, then added, “Well, y’gotta read _one_ , then if ya don’t like it, ya ain’t gotta read no more of ‘em.”

“Just the one, eh?” Sniper said, giving Scout a small smile.“I think I can manage that.”

“Awesome,” Scout said, and at that word, his leg began to jiggle.“Those’re the first ten Captain Americas ya got right there, but I didn’t know if ya’d be a DC or a Marvel guy, so I brought the Flash, too, and—“

And Scout was off, explaining to Sniper with rapidly gesturing hands and a jiggling leg about Marvel comics, DC comics, Captain America, the Flash, the Avengers, the Justice League, and an assortment of other bits of information Sniper found difficult to follow.Maybe it would all click into place when he actually read what Scout was talking about, though.

Some time later, Scout slurped the last drops of the Kool-Aid from his glass.“Want me to wash this right quick?I don’t care to, really I don’t.”

Sniper plucked the glass from his hand.“I don’t reckon it’ll kill me to wash one glass,” he assured him.

“Well it feels weird, ya pourin’ me drinks and cleanin’ up after me and shit,” Scout muttered, but Sniper rose to his feet, taking the cup and his long-ago empty coffee mug to the narrow little sink in the kitchenette.

“Not a big deal, honestly,” Sniper called over the sound of rushing water.He gave each cup a quick scrub and sat them on the drying rack beside the sink.

Scout stood up, then.“Hey, I didn’t even know it was this late, so I better take off and go my happy ass to bed.”

Sniper checked his wristwatch.Nine-oh-nine.Somehow, Scout had managed to make more than an hour’s time feel like mere minutes.

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed, “I’ve gotta clean me gun before tomorrow, anyhow.”

“I’m just gonna leave all these here, awright?That cool, I mean…?” Scout said, gesturing to the comic box. 

“’S fine,” Sniper nodded.

“No hurry on readin’ ‘em, I mean I know you got ya love books to read and ya sweaters to knit.” 

Sniper shook his head at him, but he was smiling anyway.“What’s that you said about the guys pickin’ on you, again?”

“Yeah, I might do a little pickin’ back,” Scout said as he turned the door handle.“Okay, man, I’m outta ya hair now.See ya tomorrow, Snipes.”

“Sure.Tomorrow,” Sniper said, staring at the door long after Scout had shut it behind him.

Snapping out of his stupor, he grabbed a dish towel from a drawer and began to dry the two cups.

“I’m pickin’ up good vibrations…” he sang under his breath as he dried.At the realization of what he was singing, his eyes widened.

“Goddammit, Scout,” he grumbled, humming the admittedly catchy tune as he put the glasses back into the cabinet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple things. I've never actually been to Australia--surprise--so if I got/get any details wrong, my bad. I used to be obsessed with Australia when I was a kid (??? I don't understand either) so I remembered some things from that, and I've done your basic Google searches to find out the rest. If my information is wrong, I'm sorry, but I tried.
> 
> Also, I know slow burns always take awhile to get started (hence the name) but I swear I'm trying to pick up the pace a little bit!! I've already got some of chapter 3 written--switching back to Scout's point of view for that chapter--and in that chapter, you're gonna start to see the feelings emerge. Oh boy!!


	3. Chapter 3

All the way down the hall, Scout could hear the cacophony coming from the kitchen, the raucous laughter and the clinking of dishes growing steadily louder as he neared it.He walked through the kitchen archway and was surprised to see it packed so full of his fellow mercs.Usually, they all grabbed their breakfast at different times, and there were rarely more than two people at a time in the kitchen.As Scout scanned the room, he found that every single one of his teammates were present—even Spy, who stood with his shoulders hunched in the corner of the room, one of his weird pastel-colored cigarettes dangling from a daintily-gloved hand.

Every single one of his teammates except for Sniper, Scout noted with a twinge of disappointment.

“Mornin’,” Engineer called to him as Scout made his way to the fridge.

“Mornin’,” Scout replied absently, pawing through the maze of Tupperware containers and take-out boxes and condiment bottles until he came across one of his energy drinks.He shut the fridge and popped the tab.The smell of ginseng and B-vitamins reached his nose as he took a deep pull from the can, mouth salivating from the mildly sour elixir.

“Miss Pauling brought donuts,” Engineer said, tipping his head toward the small mountain of little pink pastry boxes strewn across the length of the kitchen table.

At the mention of her name, Miss Pauling paused her scribbling on her paperwork and flicked her eyes over to Scout.“Help yourself,” she said, turning her attention back to her work.

“I didn’t even see you sittin’ there, Miss P!” Scout wailed, his voice several octaves too loud for the occasion, but he felt dumb for not seeing her sooner.He walked to the kitchen table and flopped down in a seat beside her.“What’s the deal with all the donuts?”

She held a finger up in a “hold-that-thought” gesture, keeping it aloft until she’d jotted a few more words down on her paper.She stilled her pen, lowered her finger, and looked over at him.

“The Administrator wanted to give you guys a small reward,” she said, her eyes scurrying back to her papers.“Collectively, RED Team has reached its one hundred-thousandth kill, as of yesterday.”

“Yippee,” Scout deadpanned, thumbing open one of the donut boxes and helping himself to what he had hoped was a chocolate-flavored cake donut, but turned out to be some kind of lip-curling root beer concoction.“Hey, who actually _got_ the hundred-thousandth kill?The fifty-thousandth one was me, I know that.” 

The Administrator hadn’t bought a bunch of donuts for fifty-thousand, but she _had_ sent a lovely fruit basket, which went largely uneaten by anyone except Soldier’s pet raccoons.The more he thought about it, Scout felt kind of cheated, but whatever.

“Mrrh!” came a muffled squeal of delight from the seat directly across from Scout.Pyro jabbed his thumbs toward his chest.As always, Pyro’s face was concealed by a black, rubbery-looking gas mask, but Scout knew there was bound to be a face-splitting smile lurking just underneath it.

“Well, congratulations, buddy!” Scout beamed, slapping his grip-taped palm against the tabletop.He put a little more enthusiasm into his voice and hand gestures than was necessary; Pyro always seemed to get a kick out of it when he did that, for whatever reason.“Guess I shoulda asked, ‘fore I ate one a ya donuts, hah?”

Pyro laughed, flapping a gloved hand in Scout’s direction.“Hrr nrrt jrrst mrrh _hrrh_ , drr frr _huurrrh_ rrbrrdrrrh,” Pyro assured him.

After five years of living with Pyro, Scout could more-or-less understand the man’s mask-smothered grunting. _They’re not just for me, they’re for everybody_ , sounded like.

“That’s awful sweet of ya, Py,” Scout said, which garnered another muffled giggle from Pyro.He took a large bite of his root beer-flavored donut, trying not to taste it too much as he washed it down with a swig of his energy drink.It may have been gross, but like hell he’d ever be guilty of wasting food.

He polished off four more donuts and another energy drink as the morning dwindled on, the clock steadily ticking toward time to head off to work.Scout liked to take a good hour, hour and a half each morning to enjoy the calm before the storm.Not that he didn’t like his job, because he _did_ , but he’d be lying if he said he looked forward to the impending mental strain it always wrought.There was physical strain, too, but that faded away after a quick rest.Mental strain lingered.

As it neared closer to time to head out, the crowd in the kitchen thinned.Soon it was only Scout, Engineer, and Miss Pauling sitting at the table, the latter of whom still had her head buried in a stack of paperwork.Scout was the master of idle chatter, so he worked his magic and got Engineer going on a tirade about _Gilligan’s Island_ , about how the show only lasted three years because of all the glaring plot holes, et cetera et cetera.

“Yeah, if they was only goin’ on a three hour tour, how come Mr. and Mrs. Howell brought all that shit with ‘em on the boat?That’s what I wanna know.”

“Why in Sam Hill would _any_ of ‘em bring luggage for a three-hour tour?” Engineer said.“And you know Mr. and Mrs. Howell ain’t gettin’ on no tiny little boat in the first place.They’re rich, they can afford to go on somethin’ way nicer’n that.”

Miss Pauling stood up abruptly, tucking a lock of hair that had loosed itself from her bun behind her ear, and gathered her things into her arms.“I’ve got to run and get Medic to sign off on a few forms for me, I forgot all about that,” she said, more to herself than to the two men in the room with her.She pushed her chair underneath the table.“Good seeing you guys, though.” 

“Always good t’see you, too,” Engineer said with a suave little tip of his hardhat, his smooth southern drawl insinuating a _y’all come back now, y’hear_ at the end of that sentence.

“Later, Miss P,” Scout called to her as she made her way through the kitchen archway.He could already hear her murmuring to herself, something about a Rolodex and binder clips.Geez, the Administrator worked her too hard.

When the two of them were alone in the room, Scout could feel Engineer’s eyes on him.He looked over and the other man was giving him an odd sort of look, an amused smile playing at the Texan’s lips. 

“What’re ya lookin’ at me like that for, Hardhat?” Scout asked him, his hands swiping at his face for possible donut smudges and, feeling nothing, flying up to pat at his hair.Nothing amiss there, he looked down at his shirt to see if he’d spilled something on himself, or something.No, that was fine, too. 

_Well what the hell’s that look for, then?_ he thought, mildly annoyed.

“Nothin’,” Engineer said with a shrug, his easygoing grin widening.“Just, ever’ time Miss Pauling comes down here to check in, you, uh…well, to be right real honest, you kinda fall all over her.Never thought I’d see the day when you’d get over that crush o’ yours.Pardon my sayin’ so, but it’s about damn time.”

“What?No, I—I still like Miss Pauling,” Scout said indignantly.“I mean, I know she’s way too busy to…y’know, _date_ or whatever no time soon, but I—I still got a thing for her, for sure.”Scout crossed his arms at his chest.

“Mm, alright, then,” Engineer said, the smile never wavering from his face as he took another sip from his coffee cup.

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” Scout said, feeling his temper rising.“Whaddyou care who I like and who I don’t, anyways?”

Engineer plunked his mug back to the tabletop, smacking his lips once before he spoke.“Ain’t no reason to get hot under the collar, son, that weren’t my intention,” Engineer said gently.

Scout’s shoulders sagged.He’d never admit it, not for a million years, but Engineer was the closest thing to a dad he’d ever had.That sentiment doubled when the Texan called him “son,” which was often.He didn’t know what it felt like to back-sass your father, but he imagined it was a lot like what he felt at that moment.

“Nah, I know,” Scout said, casting his eyes down at the table.“Miss P’s great and all, but I dunno, I…I guess my little pea brain finally figured out she ain’t interested.I just…ain’t really feelin’ it no more, I guess.”

Engineer nodded slowly.“Well, if it makes you feel any better, that poor woman’s _married_ to her job.She ain’t even got time for herself, let alone somebody else.”

“Yeah,” Scout sighed.“Heh.Me ’n’ her are kinda too different anyways, right?”

“Now, sometimes opposites attract, but it depends on what kinda opposite you’re dealin’ with, if you want my opinion on it.You and Miss Pauling, well…the two a you are just a smidge _too_ opposite.”

“Think so?” Scout said, putting his elbow on the table and propping his head up against his palm.“How come I liked her for five years, then?Ain’t that _more_ than just a crush at that point, though?”

Engineer shook his head.“Want me to be honest with you, here?”

“Well, _yeah_.”

“Think you liked Miss Pauling for so long ‘cause you knew she was unattainable.She’s the perfect lady to, uh…well, if you tell yourself over and over that you’re just waitin’ on Miss Pauling to say yes to you, and use that for your reason why you ain’t lookin’ at _other_ ladies…” 

Engineer reached up and adjusted his goggles with a thumb and forefinger.“Ah, it ain’t my place to pry like that, I’m sorry.Anyhow.”He stood up from the table and grabbed his coffee mug.“I’m gonna skedaddle before I stick mah foot any farther in mah mouth.See ya in an hour.”With that, Engineer made his leave from the kitchen, his steel-toed work boots clunking against the hardwood as he walked.

Scout might’ve been dumb, but he wasn’t an idiot.He knew what Engineer was insinuating, and it took all the self-restraint he had in him not to sprint off after the short little bastard and plant a foot in his ass.He didn’t nurse a crush on Miss Pauling for five long, torturous years because he knew she’d never like him back; that was the stupidest shit he’d ever heard, who’d do that to themselves?He’d get married to Miss Pauling _tomorrow_ , no questions asked.

…But would he really, though?

He had _just_ told Engineer that his enthusiasm for Miss Pauling had tapered off to nearly nothing as of late.He just chalked it up to a chapter ending in his life, a phase he was getting over.He had crushed on her, hard, and it had gone fruitless for so long that he was finally ready to move on to other ladies.

Other ladies.Engineer had made a remark about that.Basically, the older man had said Scout was using Miss Pauling as an excuse not to go after these “other ladies,” meaning he didn’t really _want_ to.And if Scout knew Miss Pauling wouldn’t ever go on a date with him, but he felt like he had a valid excuse not to go after “other ladies” because of his crush on her…

Maybe he just wasn’t interested in girls at all.

That’s not what he was _telling_ himself, Scout reasoned, that’s just what _Engineer_ was getting at.In his roundabout, polite little way, Engineer had hinted at the fact that he might be

_ (batting for the other team) _

interested in…you know. _Dudes_ , or something.

Scout scoffed and took a swallow of his energy drink, squeezing the can so hard that it bent.He wasn’t gonna think about this right now.He’d get himself good and pissed off before work, and that was the last thing he wanted.He needed to clear his head before he stepped onto the teleporter that’d whisk him off to Dustbowl.His eyes flicked to the Kit-Cat clock swiveling its eyes and swishing its tail above the kitchen sink.Eight twenty-something.Yeah.He had half an hour to take a run.Running was good.Running required very little cognitive thought.He’d take a few laps around the base before he had to go.

Directly in front of the kitchen table was a sliding glass door leading out to the back patio.The back patio looked out on the base’s back lot, and off to the right-hand side sat Sniper’s Winnebago, its metallic surface twinkling in the glow of the sunrise.Scout had his hand on the handle of the sliding glass door, about to open it, when he caught a glimpse of movement just outside the camper.The barely-visible form of Sniper was doing something out in front of his quaint little home—something that required bending down, though from this distance, Scout couldn’t tell what.

_Hey, y’know what I just thought_ , Scout said to himself, _everybody ‘cept Sniper got donuts.That ain’t fair, huh.I oughta take him some.Py won’t mind, I know he won’t.‘Sides, there’s like, fifty of ‘em left, nobody’ll notice if I take like five or six out there._

Without giving it another thought, because thinking was bad and distracting and troublesome and he didn’t give a shit anyway, Scout grabbed five of the best-looking donuts he came across and put them into one of the empty donut boxes.He sucked the frosting from his fingers and headed outside, jogging off toward Sniper’s camper.

 

****

 

The sky over Dustbowl was heavy and gray with rainclouds. While getting a broken femur MediGunned back together, Scout heard the distant growl of thunder.

“Ach,” Medic said as he tended to Scout’s leg, glancing up at the sky.“I was hoping to get a bit of gardening done after work, but I’m sure that won’t be happening.”

“Think it’s rainin’ back home?” Scout asked.If it was, he wouldn’t be going out to the rock formation to hang out with Sni—uh, to practice his drawing.

“If those clouds and that thunder coming from the west are any indication, I would say so,” Medic said, tipping his head toward the offending clouds.  Due to the man's thick German accent, it sounded like he'd said  _vest_ , not  _west_ , and it took Scout a second to work that out in his brain.Scout had no room to talk, though; his Bostonian accent butchered just as many, if not more words than Medic’s, and English was Scout’s _first_ language.

“Dammit,” Scout mumbled under his breath, wincing at the unpleasant, but not exactly painful sensation of his bone being fused back together.

Medic smirked at him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.“You look terribly disappointed.Did you have plans with someone this afternoon?”

Medic’s word choice struck Scout as a little odd.Medic hadn't asked him if he had plans; he had asked if he had plans _with someone_.Did…did Medic know about him and Sniper?

_Now wait just a frickin’ minute_ , Scout scolded himself, _what the hell’m I thinkin’, “does he know.”Ain’t nuttin’_ to _know.So I hung out with the guy for two frickin’ days, so what?It ain’t like we’re handin’ out weddin’ invitations, over here._

“Your face is flushed,” Medic said, giving Scout a knowing smile.

“No it ain’t,” Scout snapped, turning his head away.“I’m just sunburnt or sum’n.How much longer on the leg, Doc?”

Chuckling under his breath, Medic extended a rubber-gloved forefinger.“Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked, prodding the flesh at Scout’s left quadricep.

“Nah,” Scout said, jumping up from the shoved-together wooden crates that served as Medic’s makeshift examination table.He leaned some weight onto his leg.No pain, but it did feel a little wobbly; it always did, though, so no surprise there.

“Feels good, thanks Doc, you’re the best,” he babbled, suddenly wanting to get the hell out of there.Those thoughts he’d fought so hard to fight off were creeping back to the forefront of his mind.He needed to bludgeon a few heads with his baseball bat or squeeze off a few meat shots with his scattergun or _some_ thing.He started to dash off, but he didn’t get far before Medic called after him.

“Before you go, Scout,” Medic said, “I need to ask you something.”Scout froze in his tracks.He had to quite literally squeal to a stop, the pointed rubber soles of his cleats skidding against the half-rotted wood of Medic’s lean-to clinic.

“Yeah?” Scout said apprehensively.He just _knew_ Medic was going to say some sassy remark about how Scout was spending a lot of time and filling up too many sketchbook pages with A Certain Australian as of late.How Medic could possibly know about his drawings, Scout didn’t know, but he was _sure_ Medic did, somehow.Scout could tell by the accusatory glint in the German’s eyes.Yeah, that was _definitely_ an accusatory glint he was seeing.Scout chewed at his bottom lip, his buck teeth pulling at a loose sliver of wind-chapped skin.

Medic had swapped his MediGun for a blood-spattered clipboard.He flipped through the papers pinned to it, scrawled something down with a pen, then used the pen to point at Scout.“Stop by my office this Saturday, ja?I need to have a look at that femur of yours again.”

Scout breathed a sigh of relief.It was just the leg Doc was worried about, then, not…something else.

“Y-yeah, awright,” Scout nodded, “I’ll swing by.” 

He took a step backward, about to turn on his heel and dash off, but Medic was stepping toward him, stripping one of his rubber gloves from his hand.Scout’s eyes widened in alarm, unsure where this situation was headed as Medic came to a stop about a foot away from him.Medic raised his ungloved hand to face-level.

_He’s gonna hit me_ , Scout thought with panic, _why, what the hell’d I do?_ Scout wanted to back away, use his forearms to shield himself, something, _anything._ But he couldn’t.His entire body was numb with a fresh, jagged burst of fear.All he could do was clamp his eyes shut and brace himself.

When two, three seconds passed by and the blow did not come, Scout cracked his eyes open.Medic stared down at him with sympathetic eyes.

“I’m only seeing if you have a fever, liebchen,” Medic said, his voice uncharacteristically warm and comforting. 

“Oh,” Scout said, and there was no denying he was blushing in embarrassment that time; he could feel the heat radiating from his face.“Uh, yeah.I knew that.”

A soft, warm hand came to rest at Scout’s forehead.He felt like he was six years old and in the school nurse’s office all over again.The hand lingered there for a moment, then withdrew.

“You feel quite warm,” Medic said, taking a step back to allow the both of them the return of their personal space.“And your skin is clammy.Your face is flushed, you’re more skittish than the usual…you’re either coming down with something, or you have something on your mind.”The inquisitive look on Medic’s face implied, _which is it?_

“I feel fine, Doc, really,” Scout assured him, already backing toward the lean-to’s exit.“I’m good.An’ my leg feels awright, so I’m just gonna get outta here an’—“

“This may come as a surprise to you, Scout, but I was your age once,” Medic interrupted.“I know that look in your eye all too well.You know, if there’s ever any questions you may want to ask, you are welcome to ask me.”

Scout wanted to fall on the floor and die.Ohmigod.Medic wanted to tell him where babies came from, or something.This was way, _way_ too uncomfortable.He felt like the rickety walls of the lean-to were closing in on him.

Scout turned on his heel.“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Scout yelled over his shoulder, jogging for the exit.“I better get back out there before somebody notices I ain’t workin’, uh, thanks for patchin’ me up, Doc, I feel a hundred percent now…”

A stream of barely-related words tumbled from his mouth until he was out of earshot from Medic.He broke out into a sprint, scattergun clutched to his side, dog tags jouncing against his chest.The rhythmic thud of his feet against dry, cracked earth, the comforting burn settling into his leg muscles, the fire in his chest as his breath quickened—all of it amalgamated into a haze of much-needed calm. 

Up ahead Scout spotted an inattentive BLU, back turned as they took aim with their rocket launcher.Before they could fire their weapon, Scout darted up, squeezed off two shots point-blank into their backside, and sped off without so much as a backwards glance.Whoever that poor sap was, he’d be headed off to respawn, for sure.The familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through Scout’s veins, further pushing those intrusive thoughts back where they belonged—far, far away from the forefront of his mind. 

Good.

Grinning wickedly, Scout set his sights for another BLU up on the horizon, unsheathing his baseball bat from the gear bag strapped to his back. 

Don’t think. 

Thinking sucks. 

Just go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned for Sniper to be in this chapter, but it just didn't happen that way. The next chapter's in his point of view, though. He'll be in it, I promise (and Scout will be, too).
> 
> Thanks so much to everybody who's left me kudos and comments on this, it really means a lot. It keeps me inspired to write more.


	4. Chapter 4

Normally Sniper didn’t mind the rain, but this was getting bloody ridiculous.

He’d been content with it, for awhile.Being inside for too long used to make him antsy, but there was something about being in a camper that made you feel half-indoors, half-outdoors at all times.Being cooped up in the Winnie wasn’t so bad; it gave him some time to put a dent in Scout’s comic collection, if nothing else.And the sound of the downpour plinking against the metal roof of the camper was relaxing.

But he was running dangerously low on clean clothes to wear.Usually he did his laundry on Tuesdays, since Tuesday proved to be an unpopular day for anyone else to be doing _their_ laundry in the base’s laundry room, but the rain had kept him from it.It was Friday now, and he finally had to face facts:he was out of clean trousers and was down to one clean pair of socks.If he didn’t do laundry today, he’d be spending Saturday in his skivvies.

Sighing, he carefully closed the comic he was reading and slipped it back into its plastic protective cover.He got up from his recliner, put his hands at the small of his back, and leaned backward, eliciting several satisfying pops. 

God, he was getting old.

Okay.Maybe not _old,_ old.He’d be thirty-seven in two months.That wasn’t so bad, Sniper supposed.But thirty-seven was three years away from forty.Ten years past forty was fifty, and fifty was the age when he’d legally be considered a senior citizen.Thirteen years, then, and he’d be an old fuff.He couldn’t quite believe it.

He came to the realization that he’d just been standing there in front of his armchair, hands clutching his back, for more than a minute.He shook his head a little to clear it, then walked over to the large metal cage dominating his kitchen table.

“I’m going out for a bit,” he told the creature inside.Hoots swiveled his head to meet Sniper’s gaze, the owl’s haunting red eyes regarding his owner coldly.

“Don’t gimme that look,” Sniper grumbled, frowning.“I don’t like you bein’ in there any more’n you like it.”He gestured a hand toward the camper’s side entrance.“Would you rather be out there, out in this bloody _monsoon_?”

Restless, Hoots shuffled across the tree branch Sniper had put in the cage for the owl to use as a perch.He just looked so…so sad.It made Sniper’s heart ache, it did.

“I know I’m gonna regret this,” Sniper grumbled as he opened the door to Hoots’s cage.He held out his forearm and clicked his tongue.Hoots hopped from the perch, to the edge of the cage opening, to Sniper’s outstretched arm.

“I’ve got to go and do some laundry up at the base,” he said, situating Hoots on top of the cage, rather than inside it.He pointed an index finger inches away from the owl’s beak.“Listen, you, there’re some rules you’d better follow while I’m gone.Don’t go tearin’ nothin’ up, and I swear, if you shit all over the place, I’ll—“

Hoots reached his head out and nipped at Sniper’s outstretched finger, chirruping softly.Sniper shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile.

Just in case his owl got any wild ideas while he was gone, Sniper stashed Scout’s comic book collection at the front of the camper in the passenger’s seat, tossing a throw blanket over them for good measure.He retrieved his overflowing laundry basket from the bathroom and hoisted it to his hip.Without a second thought to the nasty weather, he flung the door open and tromped out into it.

It was raining harder now than it had been when he got in from work.At first he made a run for it, but after skidding at least a foot through the slippery mud and nearly falling flat of his arse, he decided he’d better speed-walk the rest of the way.Didn’t really matter at that point—the rain was so torrential that there wasn’t a dry spot left on him.All the laundry in his basket were bound to be soaked, as well.

His boots made moist squelching sounds as he plodded up the stairs to the back patio and over to the sliding glass door.Through the door, Sniper could see people in the kitchen, but couldn’t really make out _who_ —not only had his glasses slipped quite a ways down the bridge of his nose, but the lenses were dotted with water droplets.Eager to get out of the rain, he started to open the sliding door, but he hesitated.

_I can’t go in there, I’m soppin’ wet,_ Sniper thought. _Boots’re covered in mud.Got a wet laundry basket full’a even wetter clothes.I’d get mud ’n’ water all over the place, I can’t—_

The door trundled open, and he could barely make out the portly figure of Engineer staring up at him, beckoning him inside with both hands.“Good Lord, Slim,” Engineer called over the sound of the pelting rain, “get in here ‘fore you drown!”

“I’ll get water everywhere,” Sniper shouted back, squinting through his glasses.Maybe he should’ve thought this situation through a bit more before setting out…

Another figure stepped into his blotchy vision.Sniper probably wouldn’t have recognized who it was, had he not spotted the grip tape wrapped around the figure’s hands and wrists.

“That’s what we got a rug over here for, Snipes,” Scout yelled over the rain, pointing down at the object in question. 

Oh.Sniper hadn’t noticed the floral-pattern rug stretching landscape-style in front of the door.It was plenty long enough for him to stand on.

Overhead, lightning lit up the sky.Not a half-second later, an ear-splitting boom of thunder crashed with such force, Sniper felt the floorboards beneath him tremble.Both Engineer and Scout scrambled for him, grabbing at his shirtsleeves and yanking him inside.

“Did you frickin’ _see_ that?” Scout said as Engineer slid the door closed.He pressed his face to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes and peering outside.“That lightnin’ was so close, like I saw it hit the _ground_ out there!”

“And if lightnin’ strikes near this door, you’re gonna have a face fulla glass,” Engineer warned.At that, Scout jerked his head away from the door and took a cautious step backward.

Before Sniper had a chance to register what he was doing, Engineer tugged the laundry basket from his grasp.“Howsabout you run ’n’ grab a couple towels for our damp friend, here?” Engineer said, inclining his head toward Scout—or, that what it _looked_ like he was doing, anyhow.Sniper’s glasses were still mostly useless.

“Yeah,” Sniper heard Scout say, followed by, “lemme take this, too, I gotta go in there anyways.”The laundry basket exchanged hands.

As Scout dashed off, Engineer clapped Sniper on the arm with a metallic hand.“Sit tight a minute, Slim, I’m gonna go grab you somethin’ dry to slip on.”

Sniper stiffened, becoming acutely aware of the water dripping from every part of him and spattering the rug below.Engineer was offering to let him borrow a set of clothes.He…no. 

That was…he couldn’t. 

“That’s—that ain’t, er…you ain’t gotta go through that trouble, ‘m fine.Really.”

“It ain’t no trouble,” Engineer assured him, already walking out of the kitchen.“I’ll be back in two shakes.”

Sniper grumbled out a deep sigh as he ran a hand through his rain-soaked hair.He really hadn’t thought this through at all, had he?He knew he was bound to get wet out there, that his laundry would get wet as well—he wasn’t _that_ stupid.But he hadn’t expected to be soaked to the point where he may as well have plunged into a lake, and he _really_ hadn’t expected two of his teammates to have to dote on him as he stood there awkwardly, shoulders hunched, drip-drying on a kitchen rug. 

This was bleedin’ _awful_. 

He removed his glasses and made to wipe them on his shirttail, but stopped when he realized it wouldn’t do him any good.His shirt was wetter than his lenses.Allowing himself another sigh, he gave a feeble attempt at shaking the water from his glasses.

A leather-gloved hand thrust itself inches away from his face.He stumbled back in alarm, his backside colliding with the sliding door, before his brain registered that it was only Spy’s hand, and in that hand was a crisp, triangular-folded handkerchief.

“Take it,” Spy said, his voice low and without inflection.“For your glasses.”

And now three of his teammates were fussing over him.If Sniper’s heart stopped beating out of sheer embarrassment, he wouldn’t be surprised in the least.It was obvious the hand wasn’t going to move out of his face until he took the what it was offering, so Sniper plucked the handkerchief from Spy’s glove with hesitant fingers.

“Thanks, mate,” he murmured, shaking the folds from the handkerchief and drying his lenses with it.He jammed his glasses back onto his head, instantly regaining his sight.Sniper turned to face Spy, holding out the handkerchief, meaning to return it.Spy merely raised a hand.

“Keep it,” Spy said.Sniper opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a single word, Spy disappeared in a plume of hazy red smoke.

Sniper didn’t have but a few seconds to dwell on the strange encounter with Spy before Scout skidded into the room, his bare feet clapping against the linoleum, arms laden with a rumpled ball of towels.

“I swear they’re clean, I just ain’t folded ‘em yet,” Scout said, handing one to Sniper.“Just pulled ‘em outta the dryer, I promise.”

The towel was still warm as Sniper tousled it against his hair.As he dried himself, he might or might not have allowed himself to sneak a few glances at Scout.The younger man was already in his pajamas—or what Sniper presumed to be pajamas, anyhow.Scout had on a threadbare Red Sox jersey that hung loosely from his shoulders, the sleeves coming down well below his elbows.Sniper noticed a glint of metal at Scout’s neck—still wearing his dog tags, then, though he’d tucked the necklace beneath his shirt.He wore red cotton pajama bottoms, a tiny frayed hole at the right knee.

“Ya picked a hell of a time to do laundry, ya know that?” Scout said, handing him a fresh towel. 

Sniper draped the sodden towel on the back of a kitchen chair and took the dry one from Scout’s outstretched hand.“Didn’t think I’d get this wet,” he mumbled, wiping the rain from his bare forearms.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Scout’s eyes widened and he broke out into a face-splitting grin.“Oh, hey, I was gonna ask ya, didja ever—“

“Here ya go, Slim.”

Sniper hadn’t seen Engineer coming back into the kitchen, which was more than a little worrisome.Any assassin worth their salt was aware of their surroundings and the people within said surroundings at any given moment, whether they were on the clock or not.He’d allowed himself to become frightfully distracted.

As he took the pile of folded clothes from Engineer, Sniper saw Scout’s baseball jersey slip down his shoulder, exposing a flash of heavily-freckled skin.Scout absently tugged it back into place with his free hand.

_Freckles_ …

“I was thinkin’ you could just duck into the pantry, there, and slip that on,” Engineer said, snapping Sniper out of his stupor.“That way y’ain’t trackin’ water all over the place tryin’ t’get to the bathroom.”

Sniper cleared his throat.“Right, yeah,” he nodded.“And, er…thanks for this.”He flicked his eyes over to Scout.“And the towels.I, erm…thanks.”

Before he could make an even bigger idiot out of himself, he shed his muddy boots on the rug and padded into the kitchen pantry.

 

****

 

The set of red plaid pajamas Engineer loaned him managed to be both too big and too small, all at once.The top was plenty wide enough, but the arms were about three inches too short.The bottoms weren’t long enough, either, and they had to be cinched at the waist with a clothespin in order to stay put on his hips.

Certainly better than being a wet mess, though.

As he poured a capful of detergent into the washing machine, he heard a pair of voices approaching the laundry room—one of them familiar, one of them hardly a voice at all.

“Rrsk hrmm rrf hrr wrrnts trr plrrh rrh brrhd grrm wrrf rrsh!”

“I don’t think…uh, that ain’t really Sniper’s _thing_ , Py.He likes ta, y’know…be by hisself.”

“Jrrst rrsk hrmm, thrrh.”

“Well if I ask him, he’ll feel like he’s gotta say yes, an’ that ain’t really fair.”

“Yrrh…rrh nrrr…”

Sniper pressed the start button on the washing machine just as Scout and Pyro entered the laundry room.Pyro had shorn his flameproof suit and its assorted accessories, now sporting a pair of red-striped pajamas, cotton gloves, socks, slippers, and what appeared to be a woolen version of his gas mask.Sniper tried his best not to stare at his mysterious teammate, but he couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at the man’s choice of wardrobe.

Scout gestured toward the washing machine.“Well that answers your question, huh?” he said to Pyro.

“Rrh, grrd,” Pyro nodded.

Sniper looked over to Scout, raising an eyebrow.

“Pyro was worryin’ hisself to death, thinkin’ ya mighta forgot ya laundry soap,” Scout grinned.“So I said we’d come down here an’ see if ya had any.”

If he was being honest, he was a bit flattered by his comrade’s concern, especially considering he could count on one hand how many words he'd said to Pyro.Still, all he could think of to say was, “Yeah.I’ve got some.Thanks, though.”

“See there?” Scout said to Pyro.“Toldja you was worryin’ over nuttin’.Feel better now, Py?”

In lieu of an answer, Pyro gave Scout a little nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

Scout gave a little sigh.“Ya really want me ta ask him, huh?”

Pyro nodded.

Sniper came close to saying, _“ask me what?”_ but he couldn’t quite bring his mouth to form the words.Instead, he gave Scout what he hoped was an inquiring look.

“Look, before I even ask, just know ya don’t gotta say yes, awright?” Scout said.

“Okay,” Sniper said.

Scout put a hand at the back of his neck.“Well it’s, uh…every Friday night, me’n Pyro, we, y’know—play a board game in the rec room.An’ Pyro was kinda wonderin’ if you, maybe…since ya gotta wait on ya laundry ta get done anyways, maybe ya might, uh…wanna play too.I told him already that it wadn’t your kinda thing, ya ain’t gonna be hurtin’ nobody’s feelin's if ya don’t wanna.”

Pyro nudged Scout on the ribs again and mumbled, “trrlhrrm hrr crrn prrkthrr brrdgrmm wrrplrr.”

Scout hesitated a moment before he spoke.“He says you can pick the board game we play,” Scout translated. 

Sniper’s knee-jerk reaction was to decline the invitation, but honestly, what good reason did he have _not_ to?If he said no, he’d be stuck here in the laundry room with nothing to do except stare at the wall.Just because he was about as good at socializing as a fence post didn’t mean he shouldn’t try.

Mum and Dad would want him to put forth some effort, wouldn’t they?

And besides, if he ever wanted to get any better at interacting with folks, what better practice could he ask for than with a person he’d become fast friends with and a bloke he couldn’t even understand?

Not to mention he'd never actually played a board game with someone who wasn’t a relative.He wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school, mind.

“Okay,” Sniper said.

“I—really?” Scout said, beaming up at him.“I mean, uh”—he feigned a cough—“awright then.I’ll go easy on ya.I’m warnin’ ya, though, Pyro cheats.”

Pyro gave Scout’s shoulder a little shove.“Rrrh drrh nrrt!” he said indignantly.

Sniper couldn’t help but give a little chuckle at that.It never ceased to amaze him how Scout seemed to get along so well with everybody.It was something Sniper always wished he could do—to just be able to talk to others, to _interact_ with them.As a general rule, though, humans seemed to irritate him.

Except for Scout, apparently.

Scout wasn’t so bad.

Scout was possibly even the opposite of bad.

As the three of them headed off for the rec room, Scout said, “hey Snipes, ya ever seen somebody make Jiffy Pop widda flamethrower?”

Sniper bit back a smile—he didn’t want to look like he was having _too_ good a time before they even started.“Can’t say that I have,” he replied.

“I know it don’t _sound_ like nuttin’ spectacular, but you oughta see it, man.You could do that for us, couldn’tcha, Py?”

“Rrh-hrr!”

“Yer a real peach, Pyro, I mean that.‘Kay, kitchen first, then rec room.”

All Sniper could do was follow dumbly behind them, walking into the kitchen with them to, apparently, watch Pyro prepare flame-broiled popcorn.

This was turning into an odd night indeed.

 

****

 

“Miss Scarlet, in the library, wiv a revolver.”

Scout tossed a tiny manila packet across the game board.“I dunno,” he said warily.“Open the magic envelope and see if ya right.”

The little envelope was about as large as a playing card.TOP SECRET, the front of it proclaimed in red ink.Sniper thumbed it open, shook the three cards out, looked at them.He maintained a straight face as he fanned them out across the board for Scout and Pyro to see.

Miss Scarlet.Library.Revolver.

“Yrrwrrhhrrgt!” Pyro exclaimed, clapping his cotton-gloved hands in Sniper’s direction.

“How the hell’d ya do that, Snipes?” Scout said, gaping down at the cards.“We’ve been playin’ for like three minutes!”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Sniper’s mouth.“Not tellin’,” he said, reaching into the bowl of (surprisingly unburnt) popcorn and helping himself to a handful.

“Ya cheatin’ somehow,” Scout grinned, pointing an accusatory finger at him.“I dunno how, but I’m gonna figure it out.”

“Skrrt thrrnks hrrbrrbrrdrrh chrrts wrrn hrr lrrsrrs,” Pyro said to Sniper.By now, Sniper had picked up on how to pay attention to the number of syllables Pyro spoke, when he paused to say a new word, the inflection in his speech.If Sniper paid attention, he could catch, maybe, thirty percent of what Pyro said now. _Scout thinks everybody cheats when he loses_ , Pyro had said.Or, Sniper was pretty sure that’s what he’d said.It would certainly make sense.

“I do not,” Scout said, flicking the Colonel Mustard figurine—Pyro’s gamepiece—with his forefinger, causing it to topple over.Both of Scout’s legs were bouncing under the table, sending a miniature earthquake across the tabletop.“Let’s go again, I got an idea this time,” he said, tearing the old scorecard off his notepad and crumpling it into a little ball.“I’m gonna getcha this time, Snipes, just you watch.”

“Think so?” Sniper said after swallowing a mouthful of popcorn.“How ‘bout we make it a bit more interesting, then, yeah?”

“Oh, ya wanna bet?” Scout said, grinning wolfishly.“Awright, awright.If I win…”He chewed at his bottom lip in thought.Suddenly, his eyes lit up with an epiphany.“I got it.If I win, _you_ gotta come to the base an’ eat dinner with all’a us one night.And I’d suggest Wednesday, ‘cause that’s when it’s Hardhat’s turn to cook, but it’s your choice.”Scout crossed his arms triumphantly, waiting for Sniper’s rebuttal.

Sniper considered this.He didn’t mind his teammates, he got along okay with all of them, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be crammed elbow-to-elbow with them, watching them shovel food into their mouths.

Then again, if he won the game—which he would—he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

“Okay,” Sniper agreed.“’N’ if _I_ win… _you’ve_ gotta carry me clothes back out to me camper.You’re an awful quick runner.Bet you can get ‘em there fast enough that they won’t get too wet.”

“Aw, in the _rain_?”

“Well, if you don’t wanna take the bet on account of you’re afraid you’ll _lose_ —“

“Oh, I’m _takin’_ the bet,” Scout said, a fire glinting in his eyes.“And—!And if Pyro wins, he gets ta paint whatever he wants on the side a ya camper.”

“Yrrh, yrrh!” Pyro agreed, nodding furiously.

“Wha—no!He ain’t paintin’ all over me Winnie!”

“Well if you don’t wanna take the bet ‘cause you’re afraid you’ll _lose_ ,” Scout mocked.

Sniper took a moment to think it over, grumbling under his breath. 

“Washable paint _only_ , and I leave it there for one day before I hose it off.”

“Trr drrs,” Pyro said, holding up two fingers.

Sniper stifled a sigh.“Fine.Two days.We’ve settled on our wagers, then?”

“I think we have,” Scout said, flashing Sniper his buck teeth.

“Rrh hrrh,” Pyro nodded.

Scout slid their game pieces back to the starting point and started dealing out cards.“Let’s get started, then, _gentle_ men.”

 

****

 

Scout hoisted the trash bag full of Sniper’s clean clothes to his shoulder and popped open an umbrella.“I swear ya cheated,” Scout said for the hundredth time, sliding the patio door open and stepping out.

The rain had died down quite a bit, but it was still enough to need an umbrella.Pyro had been nice enough to lend Sniper one, and as Sniper opened it, he found it to be fashioned to look like a frog’s head, protruding eyes and all.Sniper snorted at the ridiculous thing, but he was certainly glad to have it; he wasn’t too keen on getting wet all over again.

“Smart idea to put ‘em in a trash bag,” Sniper remarked as he followed Scout down the patio stairs.“Dunno if I’d’ve thought o’ that.”

“Yeah, I used to hafta do this all the time back in Boston,” Scout said.“It rains a lot over there.”

“Didn’t rain much in the Bush, I can tell you that.”

A beat of silence, then Scout said, “y’know, ya _do_ have a bedroom in the base.Ya coulda stayed in there till tomorrow, and we wouldn’t be gettin’ wet right now.”

“I thought abou’ it,” Sniper said, giving a sizable puddle a wide berth.“But I’ve gotta put Hoots back in his cage, anyhow.I let him out before I came to do me laundry.”

“I’m guessin’ Hoots is that owl?”

“That would be him,” Sniper nodded, though he doubted Scout could see the gesture in the dim glow of the night-watchman light.

“An’ he gets ta just…fly around wherever he wants to, inside ya camper?”

“Well, he’s got a cage,“ Sniper said quickly.“I just, er…let him out to stretch his wings for a bit.You know.”

“What if he tears ya shit up, or sum’n?”

“He won’t, I trust him.”

Scout turned his head and looked up at him, studying the taller man for a moment.Then he laughed.He had a light, tinkling laugh.It reminded Sniper of a eucalyptus tree, for some unfathomable reason.

They reached the camper door and Sniper took the bag of clothes from Scout’s grasp.“Thanks,” he said, fumbling the bag and the umbrella handle to one hand, so that he could open the door.

“Hey, don’t thank me,” Scout grinned, “a bet’s a bet and I frickin’ lost, so I’m just deliverin’ on my end.I ain’t doin’ nuttin’ nice, here.”

“‘Course not,” Sniper said, smirking.

“Really, though,” Scout said, his voice growing serious, “thanks for playin’ Clue with Pyro an’ me.I know it ain’t ya thing, but…Py got a real kick outta you bein’ there, I can tell.”

“No worries.”

Scout shifted from foot to foot.“Well, I’ll letcha get in there an’ do…owl stuff,” he said.“Hand me that umbrella and I’ll take it back for ya.”

Sniper handed him the umbrella and climbed the first step that led to the camper cabin.He nearly told Scout that he’d actually got quite a few of those comics of his read, but he didn’t want to start a completely new conversation.That could wait till tomorrow, he supposed.

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow was Saturday.He usually spent his Saturdays holed up in the Winnebago with a book, but he found himself wondering when he’d see Scout again.

Looking forward to seeing another person…

…That can’t be good.

As if he read Sniper’s mind, Scout said, “hey, maybe we’ll see each other around tomorrow, or sum’n.”

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed.“Maybe.”

The rain pitter-pattered against Scout’s duckling-shaped umbrella.He gave the handle a little fidgety twirl.“Night, Snipes,” he finally said. 

“G’night.”

Scout walked back to the base, and Sniper watched him go.There was just…just something _about_ him, something Sniper couldn’t quite place.You knew a little bit about a person, and you thought there’d be no possible way the two of you could ever stand to be around one another, let alone become something similar to _friends_.But something about Scout was different.Something…but he didn’t know what.

Sniper locked the door behind him, tossed the bag of clothes near the couch, and set off to wrestle Hoots back into his cage for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Dad-gineer in this chapter because why not ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also, I just wanted to point out that Scout isn't patronizing or pitying Pyro when they hang out together. I know the way I write it, it kinda seems that way--I try not to make it sound that way, but somehow, it always does. They really are friends, though.
> 
> I think I know how I want the next chapter to go, but it's kinda angsty. Like...it does a 180 from what I've written so far. I don't know if I should write it that way, or if I should steer it toward being more lighthearted. I really do think chapter five is going to focus on some of Scout's inner demons, though. I'll just have to see where it goes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needs trigger warnings, I think. If I list them before you read it, though, it'll spoil the whole thing. So what I'm going to do is, I'm going to put the warnings ON THE END NOTES, and if you want to, you can scroll down right quick and read them before you start the chapter. I'll go ahead and say that there isn't any rape/noncon, graphic violence, graphic sex, or underage content, though.

_ ~July, 1966~ _

The elevator was out.Again.

That was the final straw.This had easily been the worst day he’d had in years, and he couldn’t even ride the goddamn elevator up to the fourth floor to get to his apartment.He gripped the handles of his crutches tight, tighter, his fingernails digging into the padding there and leaving little crescent-moon indentions.He needed to get ahold of himself, he needed to—he needed—he—

_In through ya mouth, out through ya nose.In through ya mouth, out through ya nose._

He sucked in a few calming breaths as he hobbled over to the stairwell.  The cast covered his entire left leg from hip to ankle, causing it to jut out in front of him at a forty-five degree angle.  Because of that, not only would he have to climb four flights of stairs on a pair of crutches, he’d have to do it facing backwards.

Gritting his teeth and trying his damnedest not to cry, he turned his back toward the stairwell and began his crablike ascent.

 

****

 

But the sharp pain in his broken femur, and the dull ache coursing through his body from clambering up forty-eight stairs, was nothing compared to the look on his mother’s face when he told her he hadn’t gotten the scholarship.

“It’s ya leg, ain’t it?” Ma said.  “They’re worried about ya leg.  Didja tell ‘em what the doctor said, honey?”

The doctor had informed him that the cast needed to stay on for another month.After that, it’d be half a year of physical therapy, minimum, before he could hit the diamond again.

“Yeah, I told ‘em,” he muttered.“They said everything else looked good, y’know, my grades and my battin’ average and stuff, but—but if I can’t start practice in September, they don’t want me.”

_They don’t want me.Heh.Story of my frickin’ life, huh?_

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ma said, smoothing a hand over his freshly-buzzed head.He hadn’t wanted to cut his hair off, but he’d tried to look as professional and clean-cut as possible for the interview.“I’m so sorry, honey, I know how hard ya worked for this. I’m _so_ sorry.”Her eyes grew glassy.

Ma was riddled with guilt over his broken femur.It _was_ one of her deadbeat boyfriends who’d broken it, but that didn’t make it her fault.He’d told her that a million times, but he knew she still felt personally responsible.

“It’s awright, Ma,” he said, plastering a smile onto his face and forcing his voice to sound upbeat.“I swear, soon as I’m back on two legs I’m gonna pick up some extra shifts at the store, and—!And I think Capelli’s is hirin’, so I’ll swing by there and fill out an application, and even if they ain’t I’ll look in the classifieds and I’ll find me a second job.Or maybe Gene’ll let me go full-time at the store, since I ain’t goin’ ta college no more, I’ll ask him.And I’ll save my money up and I’ll just—“He slapped his fist into his palm.“I’ll just pay my own damn way through college!Yeah, screw those guys, I don’t need their frickin’ scholarship anyways!”

Ma wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to her side.He never liked the smell of her pungent perfume, but its familiarity was comforting. 

“You’ll be playin’ Major League before ya know it,” she murmured, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

He highly doubted he’d ever play baseball again, but he’d never tell _her_ that, not in a million years.God, this frickin’ day.He was completely and totally wiped out.He wanted a Codeine and a nap, for real.Gently, he pulled himself from his mother’s embrace, giving her a buck-toothed grin.

“Got that right, Ma.”

 

****

 

_~Present-Day~_

Lying supine on his bed, Scout unscrewed the pill bottle and tipped the little white tablets onto his chest.Simple aspirin, nothing more.He wasn’t allowed to have anything stronger.

He dropped three of them into his mouth and downed them with a swig of…whatever the hell was in this fancy glass-stoppered bottle.The label was written in French, so he didn’t really know what kind of beverage he was enjoying.He had found it stashed in the back of the liquor cabinet, behind the cheap tequila, Demoman’s scrumpy, and various half-full bottles of wine.He had chosen it because the clear liquid within suggested it would get him drunk faster than anything else in there.

The radio on his bedside table was on, the haunting melody of “House of the Rising Sun” drifting from its speakers.No, nonono.He couldn’t listen to this song, it made him too sad.His hand reached out to turn the dial, but he’d used the hand holding the bottle to reach, and he spilled the alcohol everywhere.Cursing under his breath, he sat the bottle down on the bedside table for a moment, using his now-empty hand to twist the radio dial. 

Static.He’d rather listen to that than the sad song.He wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle and brought it to his lips again, not even tasting the bite of the alcohol anymore.

His leg hurt. 

He put five more aspirin into his mouth and chased them down with another pull from the bottle.

 

****

 

At first, Sniper thought he was just hearing the wind, or some kind of critter making noise outside.But then he heard the gentle _tap-tap-tap_ again, and that time, he was sure it was coming from the direction of the camper’s side entrance.He dogeared the current page he was on in his book, shut it, and left it on the arm of his recliner as he rose to answer the door.

He opened the door and stared down at Scout, and several things were wrong about him at once.

The first thing Sniper noticed was that Scout’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat, though the evening chill had already set in and it can’t’ve been more than fifty-five degrees out.Second, he was swaying on his feet, looking like he might topple over if Sniper gave him the slightest nudge. 

But third, and definitely the most alarming, was Scout’s pale face, which was whiter than Sniper had ever seen it, by far. Not only that, but his eyes were ringed in purple.He looked like a bloody zombie.

“Scout?” Sniper said.“You don’t look so good, mate, are you…feelin’ okay?”

Scout gave a small shake of his head, his eyes drooping closed.At that, a pang of fear shot through Sniper’s gut, but Scout opened his eyes again—if only just.

Sniper could smell the alcohol wafting off of Scout—something stout, smelled like gin.Scout was _extremely_ drunk.How he’d managed to walk all the way out here from the base without passing out, Sniper had no idea.

At first, Sniper thought about yanking him inside, pulling the hide-a-bed from the couch and tossing his stupid arse into it, to let him sleep his drunk off.But Sniper noticed the rise and fall of Scout’s chest was jerky, erratic…not nearly frequent enough.And those purple rings round his eyes…

Sniper stepped out of the camper, shut the door behind him, and grabbed Scout by the forearm.“Let’s get Doc to have a look at you, yeah?"

A tiny whine escaped Scout’s nostrils, a pathetic little sound that didn’t seem like it should be coming from him.By some miracle, Scout did not resist as Sniper led him by the arm across the base’s back property.The younger man took slow, wavering steps, and after the third time Sniper nearly yanked Scout’s arm out of socket to keep him from crashing to the ground, Sniper opted to loop his arm around Scout’s shoulder and guide him that way.

Getting him up the patio stairs was hard.Eventually, Sniper grabbed him by the armpits and hoisted him up each individual step until they reached the top.When Sniper guided him into the kitchen, Scout whimpered again, but didn’t put up a fight. _Probably too weak t’fight me, or he would_ , Sniper thought.

Thankfully, the kitchen was empty.Sniper didn’t want to have to waste time fielding questions from his teammates.He didn’t know anything, anyway, except for the obvious fact that Scout was two steps past drunk. 

While he led Scout down the main hallway, he remembered that it was Saturday, and Medic might not be in his office. _Shit_.If he wasn’t, he’d have to pull Scout along like a ragdoll until he found the doc.There was no way he could leave Scout alone, not even for a second.Engineer had warned them all about self-inflicted injuries, and how sometimes, respawn didn’t know whether to regenerate you properly or not.Engineer’s hand had never grown back, for that very reason.If Scout’s liver shut down, or…ugh, God.He couldn’t think about it right now.

They reached Medic’s office, and a wave of what could almost be considered relief washed over Sniper when he saw a light shining under the door.He gave it an urgent knock and called, “Oi, Doc, you in there?”

“Ze door is open, come on inside,” came Medic’s muffled reply.

He threw the door open and half-dragged, half-carried Scout over the threshold.Scout leaned most of his weight against Sniper now, his legs doing little to keep him upright.Medic was at his desk in the back corner of the room, scribbling something on a yellow legal pad.He didn’t immediately look up as the two entered his office, continuing on with his writing.

“Good evening, Herr Sniper,” Medic said, his eyes still downcast, “vhat brings you here zhis—“

Medic glanced up.The pen tumbled from his hand as he finally caught a look at Scout, whose knees had completely given out; Sniper clung to him, trying not to think about how _cold_ the younger man’s body felt.

“I don’t know what he’s done,” Sniper said as Medic jumped up from his seat, “he just showed up at me camper like this, I—“

“Can you carry him?” Medic said, the usual cheer gone from his voice, his face stony as he stared down at the nearly-unconscious man in Sniper’s arms.Sniper didn’t like that look; it worried him even more.

“Yeah—yeah, I got him,” Sniper said, giving a shallow nod.

“Bring him in here.”Medic stormed across the room and threw open the double-doors to the examination room.Sniper tried to take a step forward, but at that point, Scout was purely dead weight.He had to scoop him up and carry him damsel-in-distress style into the next room. 

Scout’s eyes were vacant and glassy.If it weren’t for the juddering rise and fall of his chest, he’d have looked dead.

_He’s so cold…_

“Lie him down,” Medic said, pointing to a thin-mattressed hospital bed.“Turn his head to ze side.”

Sniper did exactly what he was told, lowering Scout to the mattress and tipping his head over as Medic bustled behind him.He heard the distinct sound of a pair of rubber gloves snapping over flesh.

“Are his eyes open?” Medic asked, the sound of rustling plastic reaching Sniper’s ears.

“Yeah, they—they’re open, but—barely.”

“Try to get him to look at you,” Medic instructed.“Zhis vill be much easier if he doesn’t lose consciousness.”

Oh, God.What should he—how should he—

_Stop being such a fuckin’ wuss and_ say _something!_

“Scout?” Sniper managed, bending down to meet Scout’s empty gaze.“Look, I—I know you know I’m rubbish at talkin’, I don’t know what I’m sayin’, really I don’t, but you’ve _got_ to look at me, you _can’t_ pass out, you—”

With what looked like quite a bit of difficulty, Scout cracked his eyes open the tiniest bit wider, locking eyes with Sniper.He didn’t seem to be any more aware of his surroundings, but it was a marked improvement, at least in Sniper’s mind.

“Good,” Sniper breathed, “now keep ‘em open, yeah?I dunno what Doc’s gonna do, but he’s workin’ on it, ’n’ you need to keep those eyes open till he gets over here.I know you don’t hear a word ‘m sayin’ right now, ’n’ that’s alright, just _don’t_ close your eyes, just keep ‘em open, keep lookin’ at me, that’s it, just like that…”

Sniper didn’t know what he was saying anymore.He hovered inches away from Scout’s face, the smell of alcohol on the other man’s breath strong enough to make his eyes water.He babbled and strung nonsense sentences together until Medic nudged him out of the way, wheeling a cart laden with supplies to the bedside.

“Hold zhis,” Medic said, thrusting a large, stainless steel bowl into Sniper’s hands.

It took all of about two seconds for Sniper to figure out what the bowl was for. _Pumpin’ his stomach_ , Sniper thought numbly.Somehow, that made the situation all the more serious—as if it weren’t serious enough already.

Medic grabbed a length of stiff plastic tubing from the top of the cart and stuck one end of it into Scout’s mouth.Scout’s eyes fluttered downward, possibly trying to get a look at the intrusion, but they focused on nothing.Medic fed the tube down his throat, Scout doing little more to acknowledge this than giving a few feeble gags.

“Swallow, liebchen, don’t fight it,” Medic said, inching the tube further down his patient’s esophagus.When all but about ten inches of the tube remained hanging from Scout’s gaping mouth, Medic reached over and picked up what looked to Sniper like your everyday half-gallon juice pitcher.Hell, it probably _was_ your everyday half-gallon juice pitcher.He then affixed a funnel—again, a thing that looked like a common kitchen utensil—to the end of the tube, holding it above Scout’s head.

“Tell me you aren’t squeamish, Sniper,” Medic said.

“No,” Sniper said, which was actually true—if growing up in the Bush hadn’t hardened him to guts and gore and bodily fluids, his career at RED certainly had. 

“Hold zat near his mouth, he may vomit,” Medic said.Again, Sniper did as he was told without question. 

The liquid from the pitcher appeared to be water.Medic held the funnel with one hand and poured the pitcher with the other, administering its contents as quickly as the tube-and-funnel apparatus would allow, which didn’t seem nearly quick enough.When a steady flow of the liquid began to travel through the tube and into Scout’s stomach, Scout lifted up a shaky, sluggish hand, wavering it in the air a moment before moving to pull the tube from his mouth.

Without even thinking, Sniper grabbed at Scout’s hand with his own, his fingers curling around that cold, tacky skin.He eased Scout’s hand back down to the mattress, keeping a gentle pressure on it, holding it there.Scout looked up at him with pitiful, watery eyes, an almost inaudible groan squeezing past the tube in his throat and tumbling from his lips.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Sniper murmured to him.“Don’t reckon you want that bein’ shoved _back_ down your throat, yeah?You’re alright, mate, you’re alright.”

Scout slid his eyes over to Medic, then back to Sniper.He tried to raise his hand again, but Sniper squeezed it harder.

“I’m sure it ain’t all that pleasant,” Sniper continued, unable to keep silent when Scout was looking at him that way.Medic must think him a right idiot, but he couldn’t help it.“But we go through worse than this every bleedin’ day, this is nothin’.Bit o’ plastic down your gob ain’t anything like a gut full o’ bullet holes, is it?You’ll be fine.”

Five minutes passed, and the pitcher was finally empty, as was the bowl Sniper still held near Scout’s mouth with one hand.He hadn’t thrown up at all, which Sniper didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

“Vell, ze easy part’s over,” Medic said, removing the funnel from the end of the tube.“Now ze real fun begins,” he deadpanned.

The funnel gave way to a syringe missing the needle at the end, the barrel of which was about as big around as a silver dollar and at least ten inches long.Medic wedged the end of it into the tubing and pulled up on the stopper.

Scout was using both hands now to claw for the tube.

“Hold him,” Medic instructed, cloudy whitish liquid welling into the syringe.Sniper abandoned the bowl, shoving it to the end of the hospital bed as he snatched Scout’s other hand from the air, pinning it back down at Scout’s side.He was looming over the younger man now, one knee on the edge of the mattress to steady himself, looking for all the world like he was about to bend down and kiss the pale figure beneath him.Scout’s eyes grew panicked as he struggled to free himself from Sniper’s grasp, but he was far too weak to put up a real fight.

“I know it feels bad,” Sniper told him.He _didn’t_ know that, since he’d never had his stomach pumped before, but it can’t’ve felt good.“But he’s gotta do it, okay?I don’t know—“

Sniper flicked his eyes over to the syringe, which Medic had already emptied once.He siphoned more clear whitish liquid from Scout’s gut, slow and steady.

“I, I don’t know what you’ve drank, or, or _what_ you’ve got in there, but it’s got to come out.You don’t want it stayin’ in there, you don’t.Remember the whole bit Engineer told us, abou’ respawn?Abou’ the self-inflicted stuff?Who knows what’d happen if Doc don't get all this outta you, you’ll just have to bear it, I know it don’t feel good, don’t look at it, just keep your eyes on me, it’ll all be over before you know it…”

Only it wasn’t over before he knew it, because it took Medic an upwards of twenty minutes to siphon every last drop of liquid from Scout’s stomach.Sniper’s leg and arms were cramping from holding them in an awkward position for so long, but he hardly noticed.

When Medic detached the syringe from the tube, Sniper thought it was all over, but it wasn’t.The funnel was inserted back into the end of the tube, then Medic picked up a glass measuring container with a pour spout notched into one edge.Inside it was a slushy, grayish substance.

“Charcoal,” Medic said, in answer to Sniper’s unspoken question.“Last step.Zis _vill_ make him vomit, so be ready.”

Medic began to pour the slush down the funnel as Sniper scrambled to grab the stainless steel bowl from the edge of the hospital bed.

 

****

 

Sleeping now.Breathing normally.Resting.With every few minutes that passed, a little bit of color seemed to return to Scout’s cheeks. 

_Thank God._

Sniper was momentarily transfixed on the IV drip-drip-dripping into Scout’s arm.  Scout was extremely dehydrated after this whole…ordeal.  He needed fluids.  Intravenously was the easiest way to do that.

Medic had told Sniper he didn’t have to stay, but Sniper couldn’t just leave.  He and Scout hadn’t been mates for that long, he knew that, but…still.  It didn’t feel right to abandon him.  He wanted to be there when he came to. 

Medic had brought him a chair to sit in, and Sniper had dragged it over to Scout’s bedside.Medic brought one for himself, too, sitting opposite Sniper.He looked positively exhausted, and rightfully so.It had been a long forty-five minutes.

“I blame myself, you know,” Medic said, sighing.  “I should have known he vould do zis.”

Sniper looked away from the IV and over at Medic.  “You can’t’ve known,” he muttered.

Medic shook his head.  “You don’t understand, I…gave him some not-so-great news earlier today.  I knew it vould upset him, I knew he might…act irrationally.  I should never have let him leave mein office vith his emotions running so high.  It vas irresponsible of me, I know zat now.  Zis could have been much vorse.”  Another sigh. 

Not only had Scout downed an obscene amount of alcohol, but Medic attributed the cloudiness of the younger man’s stomach contents to be the bottle of aspirin he’d given Scout earlier that day.Other than liquor and what was likely an entire bottle of aspirin, Scout’s stomach had been empty, which had only caused everything to absorb more quickly into his bloodstream.He was in for one hell of a hangover when he came to.

“I know you can’t tell me what’s wrong wiv him,” Sniper said, “and it ain’t my business to know, anyhow.But this not-so-great news…he ain’t…dyin’, is he?”

“No, no, nozhing like zat.He von’t care if I tell you, Herr Sniper, I know he von’t.It’s his left femur—low bone density from an old injury zat didn’t heal properly.It keeps breaking vhile he’s vorking, und it’s no trouble for me to keep healing it, but it’s not getting any better.I’m afraid ze Administrator vill take notice if it keeps up, und zat’s vhat I told him today.I suggested ve try a metal rod in zhere, to stabilize ze bone, but…surgery such as zat doesn’t come vithout risks, even vith ze MediGun und ze respawn chamber at our disposal.Zhere’s a chance he…might never run again, if somezhing goes wrong.”

Sniper was at odds with himself.On the one hand, he felt like he’d just violated Scout’s privacy, having Medic tell him all that.But on the other hand, he was glad that he knew.Scout probably wouldn’t have told him all those details, no matter what the doc seemed to think.Now that Sniper knew, though, Scout would have somebody he could confide in—somebody who knew the situation at hand, what was at stake.Sniper was no stranger to bottling emotions.It was never good, but sometimes, you couldn’t keep from it. 

Well, Scout wouldn’t have to deal with this shit alone, Sniper’d see to that.

He didn’t know why he cared so much, but he did.

This sudden interest in another person’s well-being would have worried him, had he not just spent the greater part of an hour witnessing this man’s stomach being pumped.  Scout probably wouldn’t remember any of it, but Sniper would never forget it.  Sniper had been…scared.  Scared something would happen, scared that…he might lose him.

Lose him…what was he even thinking?Why did he care?He was an assassin.Have a plan to kill everyone you meet, and all that.He wasn’t a people person.He was an island.A lone wolf.Solitary.He had already conceded to the fact that he would be alone, friendless, for the rest of his life, and he was perfectly fine with that.He had his own company, and he had his owl, and that was all he needed. 

Those negative thoughts began to stir in his mind again, undulating and compounding, but they quieted all at once when Scout shifted in his sleep.He was moving.That was good.Moving meant he wasn’t dead.Minute by minute, he was looking more and more alive.He’d pull through.He’d be feeling like shit tomorrow, no doubt, but he was in the clear now.

“I know you’re vorried about him, Herr Sniper, but you don’t have to stay.I vill vatch him.”

“‘M fine.”

Medic stood up.  “At least let me get you somezhing to read vhile you sit here, ja?”

“You don’t hafta do that, Doc.‘M used to sittin’ ‘round, starin’ off at nothin’ for hours on end.”

“Ach, it’s no trouble.I’ll find you somezhing.I’ll be back in a moment.”

He left the room for a good ten minutes, Sniper sitting at Scout’s bedside like a lanky, scruffy-headed sentinel.When he returned, Medic brought him not only a book, but a pillow and a blanket.

“I can tell by zat look on your face zat you aren’t leaving here tonight,” Medic smiled.“Zat chair you’re sitting in, I know it doesn’t look like it, but it folds flat.You can sleep here, if you like.”

Sniper hadn’t realized it before the doc had said that, but no, he really hadn’t planned on leaving that night.On some subconscious level, he’d already decided to wait until Scout came to, and that would be hours from now, no doubt.

“Thanks, doc,” he said, taking the items from Medic’s arms.He sat the pillow and blanket down beside him; it can’t’ve been any later than ten at night, and though he was tired, he wasn’t sleepy.His brain was still running a mile a minute.He doubted he’d be able to focus on a book, but he’d try.

He looked down at the cover of the book Medic had brought him. _To Kill a Mockingbird._

“Been meanin’ to read this, actually,” Sniper said, thumbing to the first page.

“I qvite liked it,” Medic said. 

Medic sat back down, a book of his own in his hands.The two of them read together in silence, the slumbering Scout fidgeting in his sleep between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you scrolled down to read the trigger warnings before you started the chapter, here they are:  
> -implied drug abuse  
> -alcohol abuse/overdose  
> -a graphic depiction of someone's stomach being pumped, though I (somehow) managed to write it without describing vomit in any real detail
> 
> So the chapter ended up being angsty, but I'll put some fluff in the next one to compensate. I had mixed feelings about this chapter at the start, because I didn't want people to be like "wow, what the hell did I just read," but I wanted to give the story some depth. Poor Scootaloo had to bear the brunt of the damage, but he will pull through and learn from this. And though the situation was unfortunate, Sniper's learned a few things about himself, too.
> 
> If you were wondering how many years have elapsed between "July, 1966" and "present-day," the answer is seven. This timeline I've cooked up is a bastardization of canon and my own weird ideas. Scout graduated high school at age 17, in May of 1966. He wasn't awarded a sports scholarship because of his injured leg, so he didn't go to college. He tried to save his money and pay his own way, but shit happens, and he never did. Miss Pauling recruited him to RED in June of 1968. The current time period is a year after the rigmarole with Grey Mann has ended, which would put it at 1973. 
> 
> Yikes. Kinda ashamed at how much I've thought this through.
> 
> AND HOW BOUT THEM NEW TAUNTS, HUH??? I love Scout's Carlton dance the most (I love the Carlton in general, who doesn't), but Spy's hip-gyrating Disco Fever or whatever the hell it's called isn't far behind.


	6. Chapter 6

Scout was awoken by a murmured conversation being held mere feet from his right ear.

“Go to bed, Doktor,” the unmistakable voice of Heavy said.“I will watch leetle Scout.Is not problem.”

“Na, na.”A weary second voice, definitely Medic’s.“I’ll be fine.He should be waking up soon, anyway.”

How was he supposed to sleep with these two yapping in his ear?And a better question—what the hell were they doing in his bedroom?Scout wanted to open his eyes and ask that very question, but he had _such_ a headache; he didn’t know if he was physically capable of opening them, at that moment.

His frickin’ leg hurt, too.His leg was the whole reason he’d gone to bed early last night in the first place.He’d taken two of those dinky little aspirins Doc gave him, but of course, they did diddly-nothing for the pain radiating from deep within the bone.So he’d decided to take his pain management into his own hands and swipe that bottle of fancy French stuff from the liquor cabinet.He’d gone back into his room with the bottle, turned on the radio, and…he couldn’t remember anything after that.

What time was it?Oh shit, had he passed out?Had he drank more than he’d intended to, and Medic and Heavy had decided to bust into his room to check on him? 

Finally, he cracked his eyes open and stared up at a ceiling that wasn't his bedroom ceiling at all.Alarmed, he opened his eyes wider.The more he came back into consciousness, the worse he realized he felt.It wasn’t just his head and his leg—his whole body ached.Then the all-too-familiar smell of industrial disinfectant hit his nose, and he knew at once where he was.

He wasn’t in his bedroom, he was in Medic’s ward.

Alarm blossomed into outright fear.Scout jerked his head over to the right, in the hopes that one of the voices he’d heard would explain everything.He was greeted with the sight of Medic pulling a needle from the crook of his arm and taping a cotton ball to the pinprick of a wound it left.

“As a matter of fact, I think he’s waking up now,” Medic said over his shoulder, before turning his head to look back down at Scout.Medic smiled warmly—or tried to, though his beyond-exhausted facial features made that difficult.“Good morning, liebchen.You’ve had quite the evening, but you’re going to be fine now, don’t worry.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up someplace other than his own bed, not remembering how he’d gotten there.But he’d put those days behind him the moment he signed the contract to begin working for RED.The asshole with his old name went on benders and swallowed strange pills and puked in alleyways and woke up in weird peoples’ basements.Scout did not. _Scout_ drank soda and energy drinks and ate candy and sweets and bounced off the walls and ran really fast and whacked things with a baseball bat and was a general annoying pissant.He didn’t like the old him, and he was just starting to form _Scout_ into something he could live with. 

He couldn’t believe he’d slipped up like this.He just couldn’t.He was so, so mad at himself.

Scout tried to talk, but his throat felt like he’d ingested fire.He swallowed (which did not help) and tried speaking again.

“What’d I do, Doc?” he croaked.

Medic sat down in a chair pulled close to Scout’s bedside, Heavy coming in behind him to wheel the IV stand away.While Heavy bustled about the room, humming a warbling tune and cleaning this and that, Medic filled Scout in on last night’s events.

“No,” he groaned, when Medic told him it had been Sniper who’d dragged his half-conscious body into the ward last night. 

“Ja,” Medic said, nodding sympathetically.He inclined his head and said, “look over to your left, there.”

Scout turned his head over.  His heart sank when he saw Sniper leaning back in a chair pulled so close to the bed, the Australian’s knees were touching the mattress.  A thin blanket was wadded around his arms and a pillow was shoved between his cheek and his shoulder.  He was snoring softly—just as he had atop the rock formation on the first day Scout had come into contact with him not as a colleague, but as a friend.

Well, _that_ sad sight effectively put an end to Scout feeling sorry for himself.

He sat up in bed, a sharp pain at his right temple making him squint, but it didn’t deter him.He reached over and gave Sniper a little pat on the leg.

Sniper must’ve been a fairly light sleeper, because Scout’s hand had been in contact with his leg for two seconds, tops, when his eyes snapped open.Scout leaned over the hospital bed and tried to look chipper, flashing his buck teeth at the other man.

“Scout,” Sniper said, his voice still thick with sleep.He raised his head up, and the pillow _whump_ ed to the floor.“How ya feelin’?”

_Like shit_ , Scout thought.“I’ll be awright after I get some fresh air and sum’n to eat, I’m frickin’ _starvin’_ ,” he smiled.

As Sniper blinked the sleep from his eyes, he ran them over Scout’s body from scalp to toes, looking increasingly relieved the more he stared.“I don’t doubt that,” he said, finally.“Abou’ bein’ hungry, I mean.”

“Yeah, Doc told me the shit I pulled last night,” Scout said.Instinctively, he reached out to give Sniper a squeeze on the shoulder—his Ma’s go-to gesture of comfort—but he thought better of it before he made contact.He retracted his hand and let it flop back down to the mattress.“And, y’know.He told me all ya did for me, that’s—“

He felt a teardrop running down either side of his face, which was strange, because he hadn’t even felt like he’d been about to cry.He scrubbed them away with the backs of his hands and continued.“Look, I know ya ain’t the touchy-feely type, Snipes, so I won’t say all I wanna say, but—thanks.For real.”That time, he couldn’t help it.He put a hand on Sniper’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, breaking the contact almost as quickly as he’d initiated it.Sniper didn’t seem too traumatized by the gesture, so he might not’ve been too bothered by it.

“Don’t thank me, thank the Doc,” Sniper mumbled with a small shake of his head, “I haven’t done anything, anybody would’ve…”He trailed off, looking away from Scout’s gaze.

There was a lot Scout could’ve said to that, but the majority of the responses he had in mind would make Sniper more uncomfortable than he already was.He tried to pick the next words carefully.

He bypassed the shower of praise and compliments he wanted to say, opting instead for, “hey, you got a watch on.What time is it?”

That, Sniper could answer.He looked down at his watch.“Nearly seven-thirty.In the morning.”

“Y’know what sounds good right now?” 

Sniper thought about it for a moment.“Cup o’ coffee’d be lovely right abou’ now,” he said, rubbing at the five o’ clock shadow prickling his face.

“Know anywhere that’s got good coffee _and_ good breakfast?”

“What’s that diner you always find when you’re abou’ to get on the interstate, the one wiv the yellow sign?You know what I mean?”

“Waffle House?”

Sniper nodded.“That’s the one.”

Scout threw the bedsheets off of his legs.“Wanna go?”

Sniper blanched.“Right _now_?”

“Well, I was wantin’ a _shower_ first.”

“Shouldn’t you…rest, or something?Don’t you feel…you know…bad?”

That was sort of a tricky question, which created an even trickier situation.

On the one hand, Scout wanted to show that he felt okay, that he’d made some kind of miraculous recovery, even though he truly felt like hammered hell.If he pretended to feel better, maybe Sniper wouldn’t have to worry so much about him.Seeing Sniper worry was just so _weird_ , so unlike him.Sniper never worried about people.Animals, yeah, but Scout doubted he wasted his energy worrying about _people_ all that often.It would almost be flattering, if it didn’t make Scout feel so heavily laden with guilt and shame.

On the other hand, Scout didn’t want to badger him into doing something he might not be comfortable with—people who liked to keep to themselves usually weren’t the “going to a restaurant” type.  Then again, calling a Waffle House a restaurant was a little bit of a stretch.  It was more of a sticky, cramped room where weirdos gathered that also happened to serve decent food and coffee.  Sniper kinda made it sound like he’d been there before, anyway.  Maybe it wouldn’t rattle his nerves too badly to go.

“I’ll feel the same if I’m here or if I’m there,” Scout reasoned, “‘cept at Waffle House, I won’t be hungry.”

“You _really_ feel like gettin’ outta that bed right now.  Gettin’ in a car.  Drivin’ fast.  Eatin’ greasy food.”

At that, Scout felt truly guilty and horrible, because it was obvious now how much he’d scared Sniper last night.Medic _did_ say they’d had to pump his stomach and Sniper had had to help, but the severity of that hadn’t sunken through his thick skull until just now.Who knew what was going through Sniper’s mind when he’d had to witness Scout in that kind of state?The man was good under pressure, no doubt; but last night’s events had clearly bothered him, if he was showing this much outward, uncensored concern.

Instead of getting all sentimental on him, which was becoming increasingly difficult to pull off, Scout decided to go with an offhanded reply.“Ya makin’ it sound better and better,” he grinned.

Sniper looked over to Medic, who was unashamedly eavesdropping on their conversation.“Doc, what d’you think of all this?Scout’s not fit to leave his bed yet, is he?”

“I think some time away from the base with a responsible companion would do him wonders, actually,” Medic said.“Just as long as he drinks plenty of water.He’s still a bit dehydrated, but other than that…a good meal and a good friend would be the best thing for him now, if he truly feels up to it.”

A responsible companion.Yeah, Scout could probably use one of those.

“See?” Scout said, gesturing toward Medic.“Doctor’s orders.”

Sniper sat there for a moment, seeming to think all of this over.Finally, he tossed the blanket covering his arms onto the hospital bed and stood up.

“Alright,” Sniper said warily, “but if you puke everywhere, it’s your own fault.”

“I ain’t gonna puke nowhere, Snipes, I promise,” Scout said, ignoring the screaming pain in his head and leg as he jumped out of bed.  Actually, he felt like anything he ingested wouldn’t even _think_ about staying down before he projectile vomited it halfway across Teufort, but he decided not to mention that aloud.  He wanted to get away from the base for awhile, and badly.

“’N’ what’s that you said abou’ drivin’ wiv the top down?What d’you drive?”

“Sixty-seven Ford Mustang,” he said proudly.“Eight cylinders.I dunno what the hell that means, but I know it’s fast.”

“Automatic or stick?”

“…Automatic,” he admitted.Hardhat had tried to teach him how to drive a stickshift, but he’d literally crashed Engineer’s truck into the broad side of a barn.That had ended the driving lessons pretty quickly.

“You oughter let me drive, at least,” Sniper grumbled.

Scout could hug the other man, but he didn’t want to press his luck, nor did he want to give Sniper an aneurysm.  Instead, he gave Sniper the broadest smile his aching head would allow.

“Ya drive a hard bargain, Snipes,” he said, “but we got a deal.”  His legs trembled as he made for the door, but he tried to walk as normally as possible.  “I’m gonna go rinse off and I’ll meetcha at ya camper, awright?”

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed, rubbing at the side of his face again.“Could do wiv a shave, meself.”

“I’ll hurry, I swear,” Scout said, walking through the archway of the examination room and out into Medic’s main office. 

Behind him, he heard Sniper murmuring something, though he couldn’t make out the words.This was followed by Medic saying, “You worry too much, he’ll be fine.Just make him drink lots of water today, ja?”

Scout couldn’t help but wonder if Sniper had always been this worrisome and he just hadn’t known it—or if he, himself had been the one to bring about this change in the other man.It was probably the latter, and Scout felt awful about it.He’d have to make it up to Sniper, somehow, someway.He’d put the guy through a lot, _more_ than a lot, last night. 

He didn’t know what he could do to make this right, but he’d think of something.He tried to come up with some ideas as he walked down the hall to his bedroom, attempting to ignore the all-over ache coursing through him.

 

****

 

_God, he’s gorgeous._

When this thought sprang to Scout’s mind, he wasn’t even mad about it anymore.  His head hurt, his leg hurt, he was tired and hungry and he didn’t have the energy to lie to himself.  Every now and again he’d cast his eyes over to the driver’s side of the car to sneak an indulgent look at Sniper.

The early morning lent a bit of a nip to the air, but Scout didn’t mind it; to him, it was refreshing.Sniper, however, was far less tolerable to the cold, and had thrown a thin button-up sweater ( _cardigan?_ Scout thought, _ain’t that what they’re called?_ ) on over his shirt to shield him from the wind.As they sped down the interstate in Scout’s Mustang, Sniper had an elbow propped out the window and one hand guiding the wheel.The wind whipped his mop of thick brown hair every which way, creating a delightfully tousled mess.The sun was rising directly in front of them, causing Sniper to squint a little as he drove toward it—but a sun-kissed glow settled over the sharp features of his face, softening them, accentuating them, illuminating them.

What was the name of that swordfighting dude in those old movies?Errol Flynn?Yeah, Errol Flynn.That’s who Sniper reminded him of, at that moment.Suave, even though he wasn’t trying to be.Still rough around the edges, still swarthy, but there was a soft kindness in those squinting brown eyes—Scout could see it.

Sniper had brought his slouch hat along with him, but he couldn’t exactly wear it while they were driving with the top down.He’d appointed Scout to hold it for him, so the wind wouldn’t blow it out.With one hand, Scout ran his fingertips over the hat’s felted surface, keeping a death grip on it with the other.After everything that happened last night, it’d be the icing on the damn cake if he lost Sniper’s hat, too. 

Little bits and pieces of last night were coming back to Scout, and he almost wished they wouldn’t.He remembered being surprised that the bottle of aspirin had been empty, because he would’ve sworn that he’d only taken three.When the decanter of fancy French stuff was empty, he had risen to his feet to stagger off and get something else to drink out of the liquor cabinet.But the further he walked, the sicker he realized he was.He wasn’t just drunk, he had known that, and he had also known that there was a very real possibility that he could die.When the word “die” had echoed through his brain, he’d decided to bypass the liquor cabinet and ask Sniper’s advice for what to do.

After that part, he didn’t remember a whole lot, but he did recall Sniper saying “look at me, look at me, look at me” over and over again.  And Scout must have listened to that command, because he remembered looking into Sniper’s wide, worry-riddled eyes as that plastic tube slid further and further down his throat.

_Look at me, look at me, look at me._

How could he have been such an _idiot_ , though? 

No, this wasn't Scout’s doing.This was the _other_ guy’s doing, the one who _used_ to be in charge of this body—the guy he used to be before he became Scout.The other guy had reared his ugly head when Scout had heard a snippet of bad news; he’d spiraled downward fast at the thought of risky surgery and never being able to run again, which caused Scout to momentarily lose control.One thing was for sure—Scout would do everything in his power to make sure that kind of bullshit never happened again.Not only for him, but for the one sitting next to him, who might not admit it aloud, but who obviously cared a great deal for him.

_Look at me, look at me, look at me._

 

****

 

“So we’re at Waffle House.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you didn’t order a bloody waffle.”

Scout grinned at him from across the table, which was vaguely tacky with old syrup.“I don’t want a waffle,” he said simply, “I want scrambled eggs and I want bacon and I want two slices a toast.So guess what I ordered.”

Wordlessly, the waitress plunked down Sniper’s mug of coffee and Scout’s (begrudgingly ordered) glass of water before bustling away.Yeah, this’d be Sniper’s kind of restaurant—nobody talked to you unless it was absolutely necessary, and the people who worked here were so used to crazies fresh off the interstate blowing through, they wouldn’t look twice at somebody with a string of crocodile teeth around their neck and yellow shooting glasses and a side-snap hat. 

“They named the place _Waffle_ House for a reason, mate,” Sniper remarked, tearing open two sugar packets and tipping them into his mug, offering Scout a barely-there smile.

“If it makes ya happy, I’ll get a frickin’ waffle next time, how’s that?” Scout said, sticking a plastic straw into his glass.As his lips touched the straw, he realized with something akin to horror at what he’d just done.

Without even meaning to, he’d just _flirted._

“Next time, eh?” Sniper said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Scout took a long, long drink of his water, to buy himself some time to think of a good retort to that.He couldn’t, so he decided to answer a question with a question.“So, this place.Does it get to ya?Y’know, like…make ya nervous?Be honest.”

Sniper stuck a spoon into his coffee and stirred it.Scout tried to commit the pose to memory to draw it later—left forearm resting against the table, right elbow propped up, right hand bent at an angle as it held the spoon, thick brown lashes moodily shielding his eyes, lips slightly parted.

“Used to be terrified of places like this,” Sniper said.“When I was little, I’d have me mum order for me.I wouldn’t even look at the waiter.Waitress, whichever.”He gave his head a tiny shake.“Got real good at cookin’ ‘cause o’ that, though.Bein’ too scared to order at a restaurant leaves you wiv one other option.Two options, if you count starvin’ to death as one of ‘em.”He huffed out a little laugh.

“How’d ya get over it?Bein’ nervous in restaurants, I mean?”

“I didn’t,” he said simply, taking the spoon from his cup and resting it against a napkin.“It’s not nearly as bad as it was, though. You obviously heard me order a coffee and two waffles just now.I’ve got a handle on the basics.I think.” 

“I don’t guess stuff like that ever bothered _me_.”

“But you lived in the city, wiv people everywhere.And you had six brothers.”

“Seven brothers.”

“That’s what I meant,” Sniper said, biting back a smile and staring down into his coffee.

_He really_ is _kinda cute, ain’t he._

_…Dammit._

“Oh hey, I just thought a sum’n,” Scout said.“Didja read any a my comic books yet?”

“I did, actually,” Sniper said, blowing at his coffee and taking a tiny sip before continuing.“Started wiv the Captain Americas from the forties.I finished abou’ eleven of ‘em, then I got curious abou’ the newer ones, so I read the first five o’ those.”

“The newer ones’re better, ain’t they?” Scout grinned.

“Well, the older ones, they’re not _bad_ , they’re just a bit…”

“Boring?”

“I wouldn’t call it that, they’re just, er…a product of their time, really.”

“Yeah, the newer ones’re better, they’re more, uh…well I could talk ya ear off about it, but the older ones ain’t got a lotta plot, just punchin’ Nazis an’ shit like that.Which is cool, but the newer ones go into like, Cap joinin’ up with the Avengers after gettin’ unfrozen from the ice, an’ it’s him tryna deal with…with _stuff_.Other than just fightin’.Y’know, like nearly thirty years passin’ while he was frozen, the war bein’ over…Bucky dyin’…”

“Emotional bits.”

“Yeah, exactly, that’s exactly it.”

“Got a question about the old ones, though.”

“What?”

“How…how _old_ is Bucky supposed t’ be?”

Scout laughed.“Y’ _really_ want me to tell ya about Bucky, Snipes?It’s gonna take like three minutes, _minimum_ to explain it.”

Sniper gave him a little half-smile. “Go on.”

“‘Kay, so right before World War II started, Bucky had a dad in the army, right?And Bucky’s dad died, so…”

Scout yapped about James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes until the waitress sat their food in front of them.As he drowned his scrambled eggs in a sea of ketchup, he said, “anyway, long story short, he’s supposedta be sixteen.”

“ _Was_ sixteen,” Sniper said, pouring a perfectly respectable amount of syrup onto his stack of chocolate-chip waffles.“He’s kinda dead now.”

Scout grabbed up his butter knife and slathered his toast in jelly.“Ehh, if ya read enough comics, ya figure out most people don’t stay dead for long.They’ll come up with some crazy thing to bring him back to life, you watch.”

For awhile, they ate their breakfast in silence, but it was a comfortable one, so Scout wasn’t bothered by it.The waitress came by and tipped more coffee into Sniper’s mug, and as she did, Sniper’s eyes lingered pointedly on Scout’s mostly-full water glass.He glanced from the glass, then to Scout, then back to the glass.Though he said nothing, Sniper seemed to be silently nagging him with that look of his. _Now what did Doc say before we left?_ they seemed to say. _He told your stupid arse to drink plenty o’ water, didn’t he, and you’ve hardly drank a drop._

So, to appease the man across the table, he stuck his straw in his mouth and drank about an inch’s worth of the stuff.He followed that up by giving Sniper a “there, happy now?” sort of look, which caused Sniper to gnaw at the inside of his cheek—literally biting back a smile.

“How come ya always do that?” Scout blurted, pointing at Sniper with his fork.

“Do what?”

“Well whenever ya go to smile, ya like…try real hard not to.Like just now, ya did this.”Scout sucked his cheeks in and bit them.“Like that.Why d’ya do that?”

“Dunno,” Sniper said, suddenly becoming very interested in slicing his waffle into smaller and smaller pieces. 

“‘Cause for the longest time, like when I was in middle school, I didn’t like smilin’ ‘cause everybody made fun a my big rabbit teeth,” Scout said, tapping the items in question with the tines of his fork.“But _your_ teeth are totally normal and straight, so that can’t be it.”Sniper’s teeth _were_ a little bit on the pointy side, sure, but they didn’t look bad or weird or anything.Maybe Sniper thought they did?Scout nearly asked, but he caught himself before he did.

“It’s not that,” Sniper said, after chewing thoughtfully at a bite of waffle.“Me face looks…odd, when I smile.”

Scout really didn’t mean to laugh, but a little “hah” slipped out, anyway.“No it doesn’t,” he said with a little shake of his head for emphasis. 

“It does so,” Sniper countered.“Me wrinkles get worse, ’n’ they look deeper.”

Scout rolled his eyes to the ceiling.  “You ain’t got _wrinkles_ , ohmigod.”

“Well what d’you call these, then?” Sniper said, flashing Scout the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen grace the Australian’s face.Sniper pointed to the fine lines that formed at the corners of his mouth. 

Scout soaked in the sight, making a mental note of yet another thing he wanted to draw, before he said, “those’re just dimples, man!”

“When _you_ smile, _you’ve_ got dimples.These’re bloody wrinkles ’n’ I know it.’N’ me eyes’ve got ‘em, too, see.”He smiled again, this time pointing under his eyes. 

“Everybody’s eyes do that when they smile, Snipes, look,” Scout said, demonstrating with a grin of his own. 

Sniper looked, but he didn’t seem convinced.“I dunno abou’ all that,” he muttered.

Sniper reached for more sugar packets at the same time Scout reached for more tiny jelly containers.Their knuckles bumped together, and Sniper withdrew his hand like he’d just jammed it into a furnace.

“Sorry,” Sniper said quickly.

Scout opened his mouth to give him some lighthearted teasing about it—apology _not_ accepted, I’m _very_ offended over here, how _dare_ you—but that probably wasn’t the best idea for somebody who obviously hadn’t socialized much in their lifetime.He’d probably think Scout was being serious.

“Don’t worry about it,” Scout said instead, tossing two sugar packets over to him.Sniper’s hand moved to scoop them up from the tabletop, but he let it fall back down to his lap.He sighed, softly enough that Scout barely heard it.

“I’m really bad at this,” Sniper mumbled.

Scout furrowed his brow.“Bad at what?” _Eatin’ waffles?_ he nearly added, but didn’t.

“Bad at bein’ ‘round other people, I don’t…”  He scratched at the side of his freshly-shaven face.  “I dunno.”

“Well _I_ think ya doin’ great,” Scout said matter-of-factly.“Part of it is, ya just need some practice.Like this right here”—Scout gestured in random directions with his hands—“this is good, this is good practice.This is public, but it ain’t like _too_ public, y’know, there ain’t a lot a people here and the ones that are ain’t payin’ attention to ya.So this is good, and I know someplace else that’d be good, too.The bookstore I get my comics from?Over in Threeview, ya ever been there?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever been to Threeview at all, actually.”

“Aw, for real?!This bookstore I go to, it’s called Yellow Lemon—yeah don’t ask, I dunno what frickin’ other color lemons come in ‘sides yellow, but that’s what the name of this place is.Seems like your kinda thing, I think, ‘cause it’s real quiet and shit in there, and there’s people readin’ everywhere, like they got these big armchairs and couches to sit on?And the whole place, like as soon as you go in the door it hits ya, it smells like coffee—they got a coffee shop in there, too.”

“Really,” Sniper said.Scout could be mistaken, but those two breathily-uttered syllables sounded…interested?Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?He’d have to pry a little more.

“You like coffee.And I know ya read books.Hey, maybe we—“

The waitress came by again and slid the bill onto the table.Both of them grabbed for it at the same time, but Scout was quicker.He slapped his hand on top of it and dragged it towards him, smiling victoriously.

“I can pay,” Sniper mumbled.

Scout slipped out of the booth to head to the front counter and pay the ticket.  Really, it didn’t matter which of them paid, because the both of them had more money than they’d ever know what to do with, but was the principle of the matter. 

“Tell ya what, you leave the tip, how’s that?” Scout said.

The longer Scout remained vertical, the sicker he felt.He noticed his hands were sweaty when he went to pull the money from his wallet, handing the cashier vaguely damp dollar bills as he paid out.Sniper was waiting for him at the front, hands jammed in his pockets, looking more than a little uncomfortable standing off by himself.The nausea churning in Scout’s stomach quelled a little when he looked at the other man; his own problems seemed to matter less as he hurried back over to him.

“You’re lookin’ a bit better,” Sniper remarked as they headed out to the parking lot.The mid-morning heat wave had begun to move in, raising the temperature at least fifteen degrees since they’d been inside; Sniper shed his sweater as they walked to the car, slinging it over a forearm.

“Am I?” Scout said, vaulting over the car door and plopping down into the passenger’s seat.He might be ready to puke, and the whole jumping-into-the-car-instead-of-opening-the-door-like-a-regular-person thing definitely didn’t help that, but he still wanted to seize the opportunity to look cool in front of his…

His, uh…

…Huh.

Sniper got into the car—like a regular person—and buckled himself in.Before he put the key into the ignition, though, he stared down at the single keychain hanging from it, grinning.He didn’t bother to try and hide his smile that time, which sent a curious warmth creeping into Scout’s cheeks.

“I like this, by the way,” Sniper said, holding up the keychain.It was a little green plastic alien with a hand raised, index and ring finger sticking up in a V shape. 

“Yeah?” Scout said.  “Whenever I drive outta here to head home, like for Christmas or whatever, I always stop in Roswell to get gas.  I don’t remember when I bought that little dude, but I know he came from a gas station there.”

Sniper’s eyes widened, but he tried to conceal the look of intrigue that crossed his face by starting up the engine.“You’ve been to Roswell?”

“Oh yeah, like five or six times.  It ain’t nuttin’ special, for real.”

“I’ve always wanted to go, actually.”

“Well I guess it’s _kinda_ interestin’,” Scout said, trying to redact his previous statement as smoothly as he could.“There’s like a visitor’s center thing you can look at.And all the shops ’n’ shit are alien-themed, like even the Coke machines got little aliens all over ‘em, heh.”

They were back on the main road now, headed for the interstate that would take them back to the base.As the wind whipped through the car, Scout clamped a hand on both Sniper’s discarded hat and the newly-shorn sweater, to keep them from blowing out.The sweater was much softer than it looked. 

Scout had to half-shout his next question.“Didja knit this yaself, Snipes, this sweater here?”

“Yeah,” he shouted back.

Scout wedged the hat between his knees for safekeeping and held the sweater out at arm’s length, admiring it.“You’re wicked good at it,” Scout hollered.

“Thanks,” Sniper yelled.

When they merged onto the interstate, Scout slipped his arms into the cardigan’s sleeves, essentially wearing the garment backwards.He wasn’t all that cold—or at all, actually—but it was so _soft_.He kept staring down that those horrendously tiny stitches and could hardly believe Sniper had done all that himself.It must’ve taken him forever. 

And there also might’ve been the fact that Scout got a noseful of Sniper’s scent when he slipped the sweater on.That part was completely unintentional, of course it was.Scout had absolutely no interest in taking in the man’s natural musky scent combined with something that smelled of coconut.That coconutty smell, was that shampoo?—soap?—maybe even cologne?His nose was buried in the stitching near the cardigan’s neckline, so it was probably shampoo—

“Should we stop ’n’ put the top back up?” Sniper called over the wind.Scout wondered why he might be asking that, but then it hit him; Sniper thought he was uncomfortably cold now, since he’d donned the cardigan.

“Nah—nah, I’m awright,” Scout assured him, flapping a dismissive hand.“I’m good.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, I’m awright.”

Sniper was still fretting.The guy may very well have saved Scout’s life last night (since respawn tech was a little touchy when it came to self-inflicted stuff, Scout reminded himself with disgust), and he was still worrying.

In a really morbid way, Scout was flattered, but he felt like an asshole for feeling that way.

He’d have to make it up to Sniper, he’d just have to.He didn’t know how, because what the hell can you do to repay a guy for that?And it wasn’t just the kind gesture he needed to make up for, it was the emotional strain.God, he’d put Snipes through a lot last night, he knew he did.He couldn’t imagine what went through Sniper’s mind when he saw Scout full of gin and aspirin to the point of half-consciousness, all glassy-eyed and unresponsive…

_Look at me, look at me, look at me._

Scout’s stomach gave a forceful clench, and it wasn’t from his post-bender nausea.As he watched the wind tousle Sniper’s hair, he racked his brain for something he could do to make it up to him.Or several things.Yeah, it wouldn’t just be one thing, it’d be like…seven hundred things, or something.

Then it hit him.He knew the first thing he was gonna do.He’d need to go shopping before he could get started, but he had an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, last chapter was kinda heavy, so I decided to make this one fluffy, like I said I would. Still kinda bittersweet, I guess you could say...but still fluffy in general.
> 
> And I was worried I might be making Scout babble TOO much when I write out his dialogue, but I don't think that anymore, and I'll tell you why. I was scrolling through tumblr and I came across a video of the guy who does the voice for Scout, and he was recording himself giving a little in-character motivational speech. I obviously don't remember it verbatim but it went a lil something like this:
> 
> "Sometimes I know it's hard to get up in the mornin', and that's okay, y'know? But ya gotta do it, you gotta, you just gotta get up and take ya pills. Pills don't make ya weak, pills are power, and ya gotta take 'em, and...look, I know it's hard sometimes, gettin' outta bed...tryna decide who ta vote for in this next Presidential election...startin' ya car takes work sometimes too, I know that. And, and sometimes ya can't find ya shoes, so ya walkin' around barefoot...and ya step on a rusty nail, so ya gotta go to the doctor and get a tetanus shot...and ya find out it's been like ten years since ya had one a those things. Anyway, get outta bed and take ya pills and try ya best!"
> 
> So I think I'm doing okay in the rambling department now.
> 
> Speaking of tumblr, I really, really wanna open up my blog for little TF2-themed drabble requests, but I'm nervous that I won't know what to write for them and I'd disappoint people. So I think I might hold off on that...I dunno, I haven't decided yet. I'll try to keep you posted.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday night, Sniper lie in his bunk and stared up at the ceiling of his Winnebago, trying to trick himself into falling asleep.So far, he was having no such luck.There was a weird feeling churning in his stomach and a strange tightness in his chest, and every time he tried to shut his eyes they popped right back open.

_Wonder if Scout’s feelin’ okay._

_Wonder if he’ll go to work tomorrow._

_Wonder if Scout’s in bed already.It’s nearly midnight…he oughter be in bed by now, surely._

_Doc told him to drink plenty o’ water.He didn’t drink much at breakfast…wonder if he ever drank any more?Probably not._

_Today was a bit nerve-wrackin’, but I think I handled it okay.It was nice._

_He was handsome, all wrapped up in me sweater like he was._

Sniper felt an uncomfortable heat creeping up his neck.

_Oh._

_No._

_This is bad_.

The night he stayed by Scout’s bedside in Medic’s ward—which had only been _last_ night, but it felt so much longer ago than that—he had done a lot of thinking.Soul-searching, if you will.A lot of it went nowhere, but there were some undeniable facts he’d discovered about himself.

One:he genuinely cared about a living, breathing person’s wellbeing.Someone that wasn’t himself, or Mum or Dad (God rest their souls), or another relative.He didn’t know how he’d let his guard down long enough for that to happen, but it had.There wasn't any point trying to deny it, because denying it wouldn’t make it any less true.

Two:he thought about Scout a lot.A lot, lot.He worried about the other man, so much so that he was currently unable to _sleep._ That couldn’t be good.

Three:though he’d never experienced something like this before, he’d read enough romance novels to know what this peculiar feeling in his gut and chest was.

He had a bleedin’ _crush_.

_This is bad_.

_Real bad._

He’d never really considered himself the type to fancy blokes, but then again, he’d never fancied ladies, either.He was equally indifferent towards everyone.Didn’t find anyone attractive, never felt the urge to date anyone.He’d had sex exactly three times (with quite a few shots of liquid courage swimming in his stomach, mind you) just to say he’d done it, and really, he could take it or leave it.He’d conceded to the fact that he was an oddball and a loner, and that was that.It suited him fine.He didn’t need anyone.

Then along came Scout, and of course the little gremlin had to go and mess all of that up.

From the first time they’d really met outside of work for longer than a minute or two, up on that rock formation, Sniper had known there was something different about Scout.Something that all the other people he’d ever come into contact with had been missing.What did Scout have that all those other people didn’t?What _was_ it?

Maybe…maybe it was because the two of them could play off each other’s strengths and weaknesses so well.Bit of a deep, philosophical sort of thought, but Sniper might be onto something with it.Scout had charisma, confidence, courage…Sniper did not.On the other hand, Sniper was mellow, grounded, practical…Scout, not so much. They weren’t exactly opposites, but they were different enough that they could be mutually beneficial to one another.

Did he _really_ have a crush on Scout?The word “crush” seemed so juvenile.Maybe he was just confused?Is this what all people felt when they were starting to form a bond with another person, and not necessarily a romantic sort of bond?Could this just be platonic?

Infatuation, love, romance, desire, sex…those kinds of emotions puzzled Sniper more than any of the other ones.That’s why he engrossed himself in so many sappy Harlequins and smutty pulp fictions.He thought maybe he could live vicariously through the words on the page, could at least pretend to understand what came so easily to everyone else.

And now that he was feeling some _thing_ for some _body_ in his real life, he didn’t know what to make of it.It wasn’t like him.To, you know, _care_.Wasn’t like him at all. 

Or maybe it _was_ like him, and he just hadn’t had the right person to care _about_ until now.

To think he was thirty-six years old and he might be having his first crush was fucking nauseating.

_Let’s have a round of devil’s advocate, yeah?Say you do like him.D’you really think he’d ever go for a bloke like you?_

_He might._

_Alright, say he does.D’you think that’s fair?Don’t you think Scout deserves better?He’s young, ’n’ you’d only be holdin’ him back.He can do loads better than you, ’n’ you know it._

_Yeah.I know._

_Thirty-six is too old to be startin’ shit like this, you’re better off alone._

_Yeah.I know._

_It ain’t fair to Scout._

_Yeah.I know._

_If you care as much abou’ him as you’re thinkin’ you do, you need to keep him outta this, this…whatever the hell this is.That’s the kindest thing you could do for him._

Sniper sighed deeply. 

_Yeah.I know._

The light of dawn was peeking through the Winnie’s curtains before he knew it.

 

****

 

He peered down the scope of the .308 rifle, trying to get a bead on an enemy BLU creeping dangerously close to a key choke point.By the looks of that odd gun he held, the BLU was a demoman, but he looked new.His mahogany-colored skin seemed to drink in the desert sun, his dreadlocks swaying madly as he popped off a halo of stickybombs near the choke point’s entrance. 

New bloke or no, he had to be dealt with.Sniper stroked the trigger lovingly, waiting for the demoman to saunter into his crosshairs.Just a bit more to the left, and…

He flicked the trigger and sent a .308 round cracking through the air.

The BLU demoman’s head remained curiously intact as his mouth opened in a silent scream.He scrabbled out of the way of enemy fire and took cover behind a rock face.

_I missed._

_I fucking_ missed.

No.No, no, this did not happen.He could overlook it if he were shooting at a BLU scout, or maybe even a medic (BLU had trouble keeping medics under their employ, for whatever reason, but all of them had proved to be deceptively quick on their feet), but he had missed a demoman.A _demoman_.A new one at that, one who was tottering around like a bleedin’ idiot just begging to be picked off.

And he missed.

_You know why you missed, mate._

_Shut it!_

_It’s because you were thinkin’ abou’—_

Sniper yanked the scope away from his eye and stood up, so abruptly that he forgot he was huddled under a low overhang until he suffered a rude reminder.His head thumped hard against a wooden support beam, his slouch hat doing little to soften the blow.He grunted, running a hand under his hat to soothe the sting before hefting his rifle into the gun holster strapped at his back.

If you shot at someone and left them alive to tell the tale, your hiding spot was as good as gone.He needed to get out of there before they sent someone to pump his hidey-hole full of lead.Luckily he'd only filled one piss jar that day, so there wouldn’t be much of _that_ to relocate.He thought of emptying its contents, letting his urine trickle down the side of the rocky-overhang-turned-mineshaft-entrance he was currently hidden under, but his temper got the better of him.He was normally very slow to anger, but the fact that he’d missed such a gimme kill pissed him right off.He checked the lid of the mason jar to make sure it was on there tight and, finding it was, he chucked it as hard and as far as he could over the side of the overhang.It shattered against the ground some thirty feet away.

He crammed the rest of his things into his rucksack and threw it over his shoulder, grumbling and griping at himself under his breath as he made his way down the old mineshaft.This had been a bloody good spot for a nest, too.Shame he had to leave it.

From his pocket he produced a flashlight no bigger than a roll of quarters, a handy little thing whose brightness could be adjusted with a twist of a knob.He adjusted it to the dimmest he could whilst still being able to see in front of him, and picked his way down to the mineshaft’s entrance. 

He turned the flashlight off, stuck it back in his pocket, and peeked out the jagged opening of the mineshaft just in time to be plowed into by a small red blur.

The wind was knocked from his lungs as he stumbled backward, arms pinwheeling.For a split-second he wondered what sort of thing could’ve collided with him without killing him, but then he saw Scout’s grip-taped hands grappling for him, grabbing ahold of his shirt collar and tugging, saving him from falling over.Sniper sucked in a much needed breath and tugged his shirt back into place.

“Sorry man,” Scout said. “Hey, ya ain’t seen Doc around anywhere, have ya?”

Sniper shook his head.Before he could think better of it, he asked, “is it your leg?”

Surprisingly, Scout smiled at that.“Nah, it’s just this,” he said, pointing to a relatively clean-looking bullet hole in his right forearm.“I dunno how it got there, like I just kinda looked down and I saw it.And now that I know it’s there, it hurts like a bitch.Kinda funny how that works, huh?”

“I’ve got bandages,” Sniper said, already unshouldering his rucksack.

“I don’t need no bandaid, Snipes, I’ll be awright,” Scout assured him, giving him a fleeting squeeze on the shoulder.He turned his back to Sniper and poked his head out the mineshaft entrance, then looked at the other man over his shoulder.“We’re gonna get our asses blown off if we stay here any longer, though, ‘cause they’re gonna be on top of us in like thirty seconds.”

Just what Sniper needed.He thought he'd at least make it till noon before having to take a trip through respawn.That was always his little goal, to survive until then; that way, he could take his lunch break inside the munitions room without having to trek across the battlefield, which would undoubtedly get him killed if he tried that, anyhow. 

“We’ll needa find ya somewhere else to hide, Legs,” Scout said, already making his way out of the mineshaft.“Just try and stick as close to me as ya can.”

Sniper didn’t have time to argue, didn’t have time to insist that he couldn’t run half as fast or a quarter as far as Scout could.Because Scout was already off, admittedly setting his pace at what was probably a leisurely jog for him, but was a lung-burning sprint for Sniper.Sniper bustled after him, loosing his submachine gun from a strap on his rucksack as he went, trying his best to keep up with the man in front of him.

At least they hadn't run into any BLUs yet, but Sniper could hear the gunfire and fanfare getting closer to them with each passing second.Scout could outrun them in no time, but since he’d had to slow his pace for Sniper’s benefit, they’d be gaining on them soon enough.Sniper opened his mouth to tell Scout to leave his arse behind and go on, but he knew Scout would never hear of it, so he didn’t bother wasting his precious, precious oxygen. 

Suddenly, Scout skidded to a halt, his cleats sliding to a graceful stop in the dust.Sniper didn’t know why they were stopping, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask questions.He doubled over, his stomach in knots and a stitch in his side and mouth full of cotton and a face coated in sweat, gasping for more and more air that didn’t seem like it would ever be enough.Even if a BLU did come round the corner with guns blazing, he doubted he could hold his gun upright in his slippery hands.

“Hey, how ‘bout up there?” Scout said.Still bent over, Sniper craned his head up to look.He was pointing up toward a rock formation a few dozen feet where they were standing, not unlike the one where they first met as mates.It looked about as easy to climb as the one near the base, too.Some of those tall rocks up there ought to provide enough cover for him to hide behind, especially considering the fact that they’d have company on their arses any minute now…

“Looks good,” Sniper huffed, straightening back up with some amount of difficulty.God.He really _was_ too old to keep up with Scout, wasn’t he?This was all the proof he needed.

“You go up first, I’ll watch ya back,” Scout said, ushering him to walk ahead.

“First”?That implied Scout was going to follow him, didn’t it?There was no time to make a detailed analysis of Scout’s syntax, though.Sniper did as he was told, hurriedly sheathing his gun and scrabbling up the craggy rocks to the top.He could hear Scout following close behind him, but he didn’t turn around to survey the situation until he was safe behind the cover of a wide jut of rock.Scout soon joined him behind the rock, sliding in so close to Sniper that their elbows touched.

Such a simple brush of skin was enough to make the hair on Sniper’s arms stand on end.

He was pathetic, wasn’t he?

They were far up enough, and hidden behind something tall enough, that it would be nearly impossible for the BLU team to spot them—until Sniper peeked out from behind his hiding spot and started aiming, that was.But that would all come in due time.Right now, he was desperate to catch his breath and have a nice, long drink of water.He pulled his bag into his lap, trying to make it look like he wasn’t _too_ tired by taking in measured breaths. 

“Hey, Legs?” Scout said, turning his head to look at Sniper.

Sniper supposed “Legs” was his new nickname, then.“Yeah?” 

“Think I’ll take that bandaid now,” Scout said, holding up his injured arm for Sniper to see.A thick trail of blood trickled from the angry wound, soaking into the rough fabric of the grip tape wound around Scout’s wrist and hand.It looked twice as bad as it did just a moment ago; all that running and climbing must’ve opened it back up.

Sniper unzipped his bag and pawed around in it until he found the first aid kit he always kept on him.Scout reached out to take the kit, but Sniper batted his hand away.

“I’ll do it,” Sniper mumbled.Scout couldn’t have done it himself, anyhow, not one-handed. 

He popped the tabs on the little plastic box and tore open an alcohol pad, swiping his hands clean with it.Then he opened another alcohol pad, pulling Scout’s wounded arm nearer to him.

“This’ll sting.”

Scout laughed.  “I think I’ll live.” 

It took five of the little alcohol napkins to mop the wound clean, since, upon further inspection, there was both an entrance wound and an exit wound in Scout’s arm.True to his word, Scout lived through the procedure.Matter of fact, he didn’t so much as wince when Sniper dabbed at the tattered skin within the wound, which was impressive.

Once he got the wound as disinfected as it was going to get, Sniper put two layers of thick, pre-cut gauze padding on either side of it, securing them with a roll of self-adhering gauze tape that he wrapped round and round Scout’s arm.It was plenty secure on its own, but he tacked it closed with medical tape, just to be on the safe side.Sniper studied his handiwork, frowning.Already, the blood was dotting through the bandages.Scout would live, that was for sure, but it had to hurt a lot more than Scout was letting on.Sniper hoped he’d find Medic pretty quickly.He hated to think of him running about with his arm like that all day long.

Scout held his arm up at eye level and turned it this way and that, grinning that amazing grin of his, buck teeth and all.“Maybe ya oughta quit ya day job, huh?” he joked.

“It’s nothin’,” Sniper said, the sudden barrage of eye contact making him uneasy.He flicked his eyes to the ground, trying not to smile.

But then he remembered what Scout had said yesterday, about the fact that he tried to conceal his smiles all the time.He decided to let it go, then.He felt the corners of his mouth turn upward without restraint, but what the expression looked like, he couldn’t be sure.It felt like it must be quite ugly.But according to Scout, he looked fine when he smiled.

And if Scout thought his smile looked okay, then…

Scout hopped to his feet, hunkering down a little to avoid detection, inspecting his bandages again.  “Yeah, this’ll definitely work till I can find Doc, for real.”  He put his hands on his knees, peering down at Sniper like one peers down at a puppy.  “Oh hey, I was gonna ask ya.  Like maybe an hour after we get off work, or whatever, I’m gonna go to that hobby store in town, whatzit called, uh…”

“Hobby Hutch,” Sniper offered.

“Yeah, that place,” Scout said.“I gotta pick up some stuff.Y’wanna go?”

It shocked Sniper how quickly he answered. 

“Sure.”

His gut squirmed again.He wasn’t sure if he’d really meant to say yes or not.Did he need to go to the hobby store for anything?No.He had plenty of yarn.Then why did he say yes? 

It couldn’t be because he wanted to spend time with someone he fancied, could it?

It most certainly could.

_Ah, piss._

“Cool, I’ll just come by ya camper when I get around, I…”He sighed.“Frickin’…gotta stop by Doc’s office again, gotta set a date to get that damn stick put in my leg.”His upper lip pulled into a snarl and his nose scrunched.

_Stick?_ Sniper wanted badly to ask what that was all about, but Scout was already slinking away, a whispered “seeya, Snipes,” the only thing that remained of him as he climbed down the rocks.

_Looks like I’m going shopping this afternoon_ , Sniper thought to himself, his left hand drifting over to scratch at his right wrist.The skin there was getting flaky again from his worrisome picking.An indescribable feeling, much like what kept him awake last night, raged through his body.He supposed he felt excited—a rare emotion for him, to be sure—but his stomach churned like he might vomit any second.Also, his brain was letting him know about five thousand things that could go wrong, and five thousand more reasons why he should race down the rock and tell Scout he’d changed his mind, he’d just stay cooped up alone in his camper, thanks though.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he found himself to be lying in repose within the glass confines of the respawn chamber.He hadn’t recalled getting killed, certainly hadn’t felt anything.The BLU team’s sniper probably lodged one in his temple, then, allowing him a quick and painless death while he, himself was too busy planning this afternoon’s fucking _tea party_ in his mind.

_Piss._

 

****

 

He’d been thinking about what it might be like to kiss Scout.

Earlier that day, when he’d missed such a gimme shot trying to hit the new BLU demoman—that’s what he’d been thinking about. 

He’d kissed people before.Two girls and one bloke, if you wanted to get technical about it.On all three occasions, he’d been in some roadside bar or other, well on his way to being fall-down drunk.He’d been tired, so tired of not knowing what it (and other sins of the flesh) felt like, so he’d decided to bite the bullet and try it out.Of course, his nerves wouldn’t allow for such a thing, so he’d had to pump his veins full of White Russians and whiskey sours to work his way up to it. 

Due to that, he didn’t really remember what kissing someone felt like.Well, he sort of did.Mostly, he remembered the fear creeping up the back of his throat as his lips touched a stranger’s, even with the alcohol dulling his senses—the indifferent coldness of it, the emotionless means to an end.It had felt _weird_ , he remembered that much.

Then again, maybe he just hadn’t been kissing the right person.

He’d read tons of books and he’d seen his fair share of films where kisses were passionate, wonderful things.Sniper couldn’t imagine how that could be possible, people actually _enjoying_ kissing one another, but his own experiences weren’t much to go on. 

Mostly, he’d been thinking about how Scout was at least six inches shorter than him.He couldn’t just have a go at it and brush his lips against the other man’s, because the height difference would make it near impossible.He’d have to scoop Scout into his arms and tip him backwards, then lean into him like Rhett Butler kissing Scarlet O’Hara…

Try to get _that_ mental image out of your head when the man dominating your fantasies is sitting right next to you.

They were in Scout’s car, riding with the top _up_ this time.Sniper suspected it was because there was a Red Sox cap atop Scout’s head, one that had seen much better days, so he probably didn’t want to risk it blowing out.The old hat contrasted sharply with the new-looking Beatles tee shirt he wore, with trendy bellbottoms and a pair of dusty red Chuck Taylors to finish off his attire.Separately, the articles of clothing weren’t anything special, but when worn together, they looked right stylish.Then again, Scout always dressed better outside of work than he did while he was on the clock. 

He still wore the grip tape around his hands and wrists, though he _did_ take the dirty tape off and replace it with some fresh.Sniper just supposed he liked the look of it, or maybe the feel of it, or both.Sniper didn't find that to be too strange.He’d be one to talk when it came to wearing odd things.Sometimes folks just liked what they liked, and there wasn’t much of a reason for it.

Scout was driving this time, too, and he was surprisingly good at it—both hands on the wheel, only going a few miles over the speed limit, using his turn signals, staying exactly two car lengths away from the vehicle in front of him, et cetera.He was doing a far better job than Sniper thought he would, Sniper had to admit.

Scout was doing most of the talking, but that was fine because Sniper liked to listen.

“Hardhat’s gonna make the actual thing, the, uh—it’s got a name, Doc told me what it was called—intra-sum’n-or-other rod.Whatever, I don’t remember the actual name of it, but it’s this big, long stick Doc’s gonna shove up in there.And then there’s these lil screws that gotta hold it in place, too, they go in through the _side_ a my leg…Gawd, I’m dreadin’ this.”

Sniper could have merely offered his consolation, but somehow, he felt like that wouldn't be the best thing for this situation.“I know Doc’s a bit weird—okay, _really_ weird,” he corrected when Scout cast him a sidelong glance.“But he’s good at what he does.I was dead for twelve hours once, ’n’ he brought me back to life just fine.Think I’ve got a few non-human organs in me now, but—”

“Whoawhoawhoa,” Scout said, removing a hand from the wheel and holding it up.“Back up.You were _dead?_ For _twelve hours?_ When the hell’d that happen, man?!”

He could probably spend a whole day getting into the particulars of _that_ whole harrowing incident, but he decided to keep it short and sweet.He told Scout about the events that shortly followed the meeting of his real parents—how some grisly old mercenary hired by Gray Mann shot him twice in the chest, killing him.But it just so happened that, when the team temporarily disbanded a year and a half ago, Medic took up a job working for said grisly old mercenary, and had been more than happy to slice into Sniper’s cadaver in an attempt to revive him.The procedure had left a road map of scars all over his chest and abdomen and upper arms, but he was very much alive.And it had all been thanks to Medic’s knowledge and skill…and maybe a bit of the man’s blurred moral sense, as well, but he didn’t mention that part to Scout.

“That makes me feel a helluva lot better about this whole thing, believe it or not,” Scout said.By that time, they’d made it to the little stretch of shops in downtown Teufort.Scout parallel parked the car with ease, which Sniper was silently impressed by.“If he can bring a dead dude back to life, I guess he can jam some metal in my leg, no problem.‘Sides, if sum’n goes _real_ wrong, I guess I’ll just respawn, right?Heh…”

But a shadow had fallen over Scout’s eyes, Sniper could tell.He was trying to put on a brave face, but it was clear he was still scared about it—who wouldn’t be?Medic’s words rang in Sniper’s ears: _he may never be able to run again._ Sniper was sure Doc would have no trouble completing the surgery; it was what might happen after the fact that worried him.

They climbed out of the car, and as they entered the hobby store he said, “I wouldn’t worry abou’ it too much.You’ve got the best doctor in the country workin’ on you.’N’ you couldn’t ask for more state-of-the-art tech than what Truckie can build.”

“Yeah, maybe ya right,” Scout said, though he didn’t look all that convinced.Scout had said yesterday that Sniper tried to hide his smiles; well, Scout had the habit of forcing smiles to his face, even when it was obvious he wasn’t at all happy.

Sniper floundered for what to say in response to that, but Scout saved him the trouble.“Ya don’t gotta follow me if ya don’t wanna, I’m goin’ over that way,” Scout said, pointing toward the far left of the store.“You’ve been here before, haven’tcha?They got yarn an’ stuff over there.”Scout pointed again.

“Yeah,” Sniper nodded.“I’ve been here.”It would be odd, wouldn’t it, to stay on Scout’s heels like a lovesick kitten.To follow him around, to hover over him.No, Sniper supposed, he’d better not be doing any of that.Sniper didn’t need any more yarn, but—ah, what the hell.He’d get more yarn.Could never have too much yarn, that’s what Mum used to say.“I’ll be over there,” he said, inclining his head toward the racks of color-coordinated skeins. 

As he and Scout parted ways, it felt like he was trudging through molasses getting over to the yarn section.He still couldn’t decide if he’d made the right decision or not.Should, er…did people usually stay together while they went shopping?It seemed odd that they would, but maybe the whole point of shopping with another person was mostly to have their company.Should he go back over to Scout, or should he just keep to his yarn?Sometime during this crisis, he’d apparently grabbed a shopping basket from one of the stacks situated throughout the store, though he couldn’t remember picking one up.He tossed some more red yarn into it, and some black, for good measure.Red and black.Good staple colors.Yep.Good colors.Right.

Why did people have to be so bloody _complicated_?

After about ten minutes of pretending to look at yarn, he couldn’t stand it anymore.The cashier, the same young girl from the last time he was in there, was bound to be looking at him funny by now.Staring.He couldn’t bear it anymore; he needed to move, needed to slink off into another part of the store to get her eyes off him.He went to the end of the aisle and turned the only direction he could, which was left.Scout was down the first aisle he came to. 

“Hey, Snipes, c’mere a sec, I want ya opinion on somethin’,” Scout called to him.His voice boomed like he held a megaphone to his mouth, it was so loud in the tiny store.Sniper’s legs felt curiously sluggish again as he made his way to Scout’s side.

“I got my stuff already,” Scout said, giving the basket hooked onto his arm a little shake, “an’ now I’m just shoppin’ for Pyro.My question to you is, if you were Pyro, wouldja rather have this”—he held up a box with a hundred and fifty colored pencils inside—“or this?”The other hand held a thick plastic pouch containing a hundred and fifty slim-barreled markers.“Whaddya think?”

“He’d probably be less tempted to set the markers on fire,” Sniper said.“Since they’re, you know.Not made of wood.”

“Excellent point,” Scout said, hanging the colored pencils back onto their respective hook.  “He’s gettin’ these.”  He slipped the pouch of markers into his shopping basket, then pointed to Sniper’s watch.  “What time is it?”

Sniper peered down at the watch face.“Nearly seven,” he said, surprised that it was already that late in the evening.

“Shit, I’m kinda late,” Scout said.“Whatever, they’ll get over it.”

Sniper opened his mouth to ask what Scout was late for, but Scout beat him to it.“It’s Monday, so it’s my night to cook.And y’know what that means, don’tcha?”

“No, what?”

“Means we gotta swing by Pizza Hut and order seven large pizzas before we head back,” Scout said with a wide, goofy smile.That lopsided buck-toothed grin of his was growing to be a bit more endearing to Sniper each time he saw it. 

Sniper couldn’t help but smile back.

 

****

 

Each time one of Sniper’s teammates walked into the kitchen, their eyes immediately fell upon him, seeming to scream, _what the hell are you doing in here?_ Thankfully, Engineer was the only remaining merc who hadn’t breezed through yet, so when the short little Texan stepped into the kitchen, Sniper felt more than a little relieved.He’d only have to endure _one_ more line of questioning, and—

“W’hey there, Slim!” Engineer called, Sniper’s presence momentarily stunning him in his tracks.“‘F I’d a known you were gonna be here, I’d’ve got here earlier!”

Sniper tried to smile.“Yeah,” was all he could manage, which didn’t even make sense.

Engineer grabbed a paper plate and helped himself to some of Scout’s lovingly-prepared meal.“How’dja talk Sniper into comin’, Skeeter?I’ve been tryin’ for years.”

“Guess I’m just better-lookin’ than you are,” Scout said.

“Whatever you gotta tell yourself,” Engineer said with a smirk, sitting down at the table between Pyro and Demoman.“Scout’s a mighty good cook, ain’t he, Slim?”

Sniper was horrid at this kind of lighthearted banter.  He didn’t know what to say, he never did.  In the span of one second, he felt his mouth go dry, his entire body tense, his eyes widen.  He’d have to say _some_ thing, there wasn’t a way around it, but what, _what?_ He—

In the second that followed, he felt warm fingertips ghosting over the back of his left hand, brushing soothing lines into the skin there.Scout’s fingertips, he didn’t have to look to know that.Trying to calm him.How the other man knew he was struggling, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care.Scout’s touch had been fleeting, almost nonexistent, but it was somehow effective. 

“The best,” Sniper said, trying to put actual emotion into his voice this time.It didn’t sound so bad, did it?In any case, it must’ve satisfied Engineer, because the man let loose a stomach-jiggling chuckle.

“Skeeter always takes the easy way out when it’s his turn to ‘cook’”—Engineer put air quotes around the word—“but that’s prob’ly a good thing.”

“Yeah, I can’t even cook cereal,” Scout said through a mouthful of pizza.Demoman let out a slightly belated guffaw at that remark, helping himself to another swig of the brown bottle he curled his hand around. 

Maybe sitting at the dinner table with his fellow mercs wasn’t so bad, after all.Sniper certainly learned a lot.Pyro hooked a finger under the edge of his mask and pulled it straight out in front of him, then slid the pizza slice underneath it to eat.Spy dabbed the grease off of his with precision and care, balling napkin after napkin beside his plate.Heavy didn’t even bother _getting_ a plate, opting to take a whole pizza box for himself.Medic sprinkled an obscene amount of red pepper flakes all over his.Soldier crammed entire slices into his mouth and didn’t appear to bother chewing them before forcing them down his gullet.Demoman ate exactly one slice before nodding off at the table, his soft snores barely audible over the rest of the group’s chatter.Engineer ate his with a fork.Scout ate fast and ate a lot, probably due to being raised with seven older brothers; despite that, his table manners weren’t all that bad.He talked with his mouth full sometimes, but Scout never could stop talking, even while he was trying to eat.

It was a much more bearable experience than Sniper could’ve ever hoped for.

Scout spared Sniper from having to endure very much after-dinner smalltalk, which Sniper was very much thankful for.Soon after both their plates were cleared, Scout simply stood up, beckoning for Sniper to follow him, and out the back door they went.No making up a story for why they were leaving.No awkward goodbyes.No handshakes, no “come back soon”s.They just got up and left, and that was that.

As soon as they stepped out into the chilly night air, Sniper felt a weight lift from his shoulders.In a way, he felt better being outside and (nearly) alone, but all this social interaction had left him drained and exhausted.Part of him hoped Scout would bid him goodnight or whathaveyou at the porch steps, and let him walk back to his camper in solitude.And another part of him wished Scout would follow him, maybe step into the Winnie for a bit, just to watch the tele or maybe…God.He didn’t know what he wanted.All of this was so…it was just bloody _weird_ , is what it was.And what was that whole thing at the dinner table, with Scout brushing his fingertips against Sniper’s hand?Did that _mean_ something, or was he just reading too much into it?Probably the latter.

…Right?

“That wasn’t _too_ bad, was it?” Scout asked him, pausing at the top of the steps, looking up at him.

“Nah,” Sniper said.“It was fine.’N' Truckie _has_ been tryin’ to get me to come to dinner for quite awhile.Sorta…”He fumbled absently with the strap of his wristwatch.“Sorta glad I went, finally."

“Well good, I’m glad it wasn’t like a total nightmare or nuttin’, that’s awesome, man.Anyway, I can tell by lookin’ that ya’d really like some alone time right about now.So I’m gonna get outta ya hair for tonight.”Scout’s eyes caught the light shining through the sliding glass door, almost seeming to glitter and twinkle, like a million little stars had fallen into them.They hadn’t always looked like that, had they?

Sniper squeezed at the back of his neck.He supposed he really would like to be off to himself at that moment, so he could think.“Thanks, mate,” he said, grateful that Scout seemed to understand that.

“ _No worries, mate_ ,” Scout said, doing a horrible impression of an Australian accent.Sniper just shook his head at him and huffed out a little chuckle; once again, Scout had brought a begrudging smile to his lips. 

Sniper went down the steps, but turned around at the foot of them, watching Scout retreat back into the base.Scout didn’t even have the door closed behind him before Pyro was running up to him, showing him something he’d drawn in a spiral-bound sketchpad.Whatever was on the paper, Scout did a fine job of looking impressed, clapping Pyro on the shoulder and pointing at various parts of the drawing.Then Pyro threw his arms around Scout, pulling him close and hugging him tight.Scout returned the gesture without hesitation, giving Pyro some hearty pats on the back, his face crinkling into a laugh.

And there came that curious icy clench in Sniper’s chest and stomach again.

He turned abruptly on his heel, marching toward his Winnebago.He needed a cup of coffee.And to think a few things over.Badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seems kinda middle school-y with the whole crush thing, and I tried not to make it too sickly-sweet and out-of-character, but that turned out to be a lot harder than it sounded. How do you write an almost middle-aged character that's been a loner for literally his whole life, who has suddenly taken interest in someone, without making it sound like he's a twelve-year-old? Welp. I don't really know. I'm trying my best, though!!
> 
> Oh, and this chapter was already getting too long, so I deleted a big chunk of dialogue that hinted at why Medic is acting a lot nicer towards everybody than he used to. Maybe I can work it into another chapter.
> 
> And if anybody's curious, the word Scout was trying to think of to describe his surgery is "intramedullary." Fun fact!!


	8. Chapter 8

While Scout was doing it, he knew it was a beyond horrible idea, but he couldn't stop himself from finishing it.Now that it was done, he didn’t know what to do with it.Let Pyro set it on fire, maybe.Yeah, that’d be good. 

He definitely wasn’t gonna give it to Snipes.That had been his original intent, but then he realized how…how frickin’ _lame_ it’d be, for a grown man to give another grown man a handmade painting.

Grown-ass men did not give other grown-ass men gifts, unless it was Christmas or some shit.Especially not handmade ones.Scout couldn’t even remember why he thought it was a good idea in the first place.He wanted to smack himself.

_How old are you, five?What the hell, man?This is a new low, you know that, don’tcha?This is worse than the other night, when you tried to grope Sniper’s hand under the dinner table._

There was still a tiny little spark in the back of his mind, though—something that kept telling him Sniper might actually like it, that he was the kinda guy that could see the hard work put into something handmade like this.That was the only thing keeping Scout from slamming his fist through the canvas right then and there.

He’d worked hard on it, and it _did_ turn out a lot better than he imagined it would (he wasn’t nearly as good at painting as he was just drawing on paper), but still.He was pissed off at himself for ever thinking something like this would go over well.

He just wanted to apologize _so_ bad, y’know?For all the shit he put Snipes through, that night in Medic’s ward.He said sorry a thousand times, but words weren’t enough, he knew they weren’t enough.He’d wanted to, to—give Sniper something that had meaning, but…that just ain’t how guys do shit.Scout knew that all along, but it was really starting to sink in now.He’d just been wrapped up in the moment, and had made Sniper—another _dude_ —a gift, and there was no way in hell he was gonna actually give it to him.

Scout yanked the canvas off the easel and barely resisted the urge to pop a hole in it with his knee.He’d take it to Pyro, let him burn it.He couldn’t bear to put his hours of hard work in the trash, but seeing Pyro burn it might be poetic justice, or something.He threw his bedroom door open, painting tucked into his armpit, and set out to find his flame-enthusiast friend to give him some fresh kindling.

He’d start his search in the rec room, since the TV was in there and Pyro was a big fan of those goofy evening-time game shows on channel seven.The hallway was empty as he made his way down there, and Scout was grateful for that; no one would have the chance to ask him what he was doing, wagging around an impressionist-style painting.

He opened the door to the rec room and was greeted with the calming burble of the television.Well, somebody was in there, that was for sure.He took one step through the doorway and yes, Pyro was there, sitting cross-legged on the couch and watching _Let’s Make a Deal,_ but Sniper was in there too and oh shit oh shit what was _he_ doing in here he _never_ comes in here that don’t make any frickin’ sense _why_ is he in here right now though—

“Hrr, Skrrt!” Pyro said, waving.Sniper, who wasn’t sitting on the couch, but rather had a knee propped up on the arm of it, gave him a tiny nod and a muttered “hey, mate.”

As quickly as he could, Scout shoved the painting behind his back, let it tumble from his hands, and drop-kicked it with the heel of his Chuck Taylor.He heard it clatter against the wall behind him. 

_Real smooth, asshole._

“Hey,” he said, striding casually into the room with his hands jammed in his pockets, trying his damnedest to look nonchalant.He had found Pyro, alright, but he couldn’t very well give him the painting to burn with Sniper standing right there, now, could he?He’d have to play it cool. 

He flopped down on the couch next to Pyro.“Thought I’d just, y’know—come in here for a minute, hang out, watch some TV.”He looked up at Sniper.“Don’t see you in here real often, Legs.And by that, I mean I have literally never seen you in here.”He grinned.“Finally decided to join the land of the living?”

Shit, shitshitshit, his brain was switching to defense mode, like it always did, trying to make himself feel better about being caught in an awkward position.He was picking at Snipes without meaning to.He groaned inwardly, waiting on pins and needles for Sniper’s reaction to his snarky little comment.

“I come in here sometimes,” Sniper said, “to borrow books.”He held up a paperback with the words “ROSEMARY’S BABY” slashed diagonally across the cover in heavy script.“There’s a big bookshelf over there in the corner, you know.For folks who know how to read.”He was smiling mostly with his eyes, but he did allow the right corner of his mouth to curve upward in the tiniest smirk.

Whew—thank God.Scout had never been more thankful to be accused of illiteracy in his life.

“Hey, Pyro’s read that book before,” Scout said, pointing at the item in question in Sniper’s hand.

“Pyro would be the one who recommended it to me,” Sniper said, turning the book over to look at the cover.  “Not exactly a genre I usually read, but I’ll give it a go.”

Well, Scout didn’t know dick about books, unless they were a) comic books or b) books full of artwork and paintings (which, admittedly, he had a shit-ton of), so maybe he could change the subject.

“You watch a lotta TV, Snipes?” Scout asked him.

“Nah,” he said.“Eh, some.Like to have it for background noise when I’m knitting.”

Scout slid over to the middle cushion of the couch and slapped his palm on the now-vacant spot to his left.“Howsabout ya actually sit down and—“

The rec room door opened and Medic strode in.That on its own would’ve been okay, but Medic just so happened to be carrying Scout’s painting with him.

_Oh, for—_

“I was hoping I’d find you in here, Scout,” Medic said, his dress shoes tupping against the tile as he walked over to the couch.“I found this lying in the hallway.I suppose you’ve dropped it, ja?”

Scout opened his mouth, about to make up some story about how he didn’t know what the hell Doc was talking about, he didn’t paint that, but he remembered he’d signed his name in the bottom right corner.There’d be no denying it. 

Medic flipped the painting over and made to hand it to Scout, revealing its subject matter for all to see.Pyro had already seen it, so that aspect of it wasn’t a big deal, but Sniper obviously hadn’t.Scout’s face was completely, absolutely on fire with embarrassment.He knew he should’ve just thrown that son of a bitch in the trash can, he _knew_ it.

With rigid movements, Scout took the painting from Medic’s outstretched hands, holding it like he might hold a ticking time bomb.Slowly, he craned his head up at Sniper, forcing a sheepish grin.He dreaded what sort of reaction he was gonna get from the other man, but he’d have to look at him eventually, so he decided to go ahead and get it over with.

_Grown-ass men do not paint paintin’s for other grown-ass men.You’re a frickin’ weirdo.Maybe just tell him you were doin’ it for some practice, or sum’n, or—_

But somehow, by some miracle, Sniper didn’t look mad.His upper lip was slightly raised, exposing a sliver of his front teeth as he smiled down at the painting.

“That’s me owl, innit?” he asked, cocking his head a little to get a better look at the painting.“It’s got to be, on account o’ the red eyes.”

“Yeah, well uh, it _is_ , but see I was just kinda—“

“That’s really bloody good,” Sniper said, still transfixed on the painting.“You’ve even got the lil spot under his beak, there.”

“I didn’t know you were an artist, Scout,” Medic said, coming to stand beside Sniper to admire the painting, a rubber-gloved finger crooked at his chin.

 _Goddammit._ “I ain’t exactly an _artist_ , I mean it’s just sum’n I do when I ain’t got nuttin’ _else_ to do, y’know…heh…“

“You have a pet bird as well, Herr Sniper?” Medic said, and Scout felt his shoulders sag in relief as the attention was pulled away from him.

Sniper shifted his weight to his other leg, staring at the wall beyond Medic’s head.“Er, yeah…I know it ain’t allowed, but…”

“Tch,” Medic scoffed, flapping a hand.“They say they don’t want us to have pets, but I’d like to see them come in here and take them.”He smiled devilishly.“I know you’ve seen Archimedes and his little friends in my office—I’m quite fond of birds, as well.”

It looked like Sniper attempted eye contact with the doc, because his eyes flicked over to Medic’s for a fleeting moment, before skittering off to rest on the TV screen.“Yeah…I like ‘em,” he muttered.

Suddenly, Medic’s face brightened as he turned his attention back to Scout.“Ah!You should paint Archimedes’s portrait, liebchen!And I shall hang it in the office right above his roost.”

See, that right there was half the reason why Scout didn’t want the other guys to know he liked to draw.Once they know that, they ask you stuff like “can you draw _me_?” or they assume you have nothing better to do but spend hours out of your day painting some scruffy-ass dove.

“I dunno about that, Doc,” Scout said.“Paintin’s not really my favorite thing—“

“Oh, there’s no rush, take your time,” Medic assured him.“In fact, Archimedes would probably sit still long enough to be your model, if you tempted him with some—“

A shrill beeping sounded from Medic’s coat pocket.  He reached his hand inside and pulled out a little stopwatch, then pushed a button on it to silence the noise.  “I must go, gentlemen,” he said, his overly-wide grin returning to his face.  “I must pull something out of the incubation chamber.”  He took quick strides to the rec room’s exit, calling an “auf wiedersehen” over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him.

Scout rose to his feet.He couldn’t sit down anymore.He held the canvas uncertainly in his hands, not really sure what to do with it now.He wanted to pace around the room and think it over for a sec, because that’s what he usually did when he couldn’t make his mind up about something, but that was out of the question.He had all of about two seconds to analyze his options, here. 

Painting something for another dude was weird.That was a given.But now that Sniper was aware of its existence, should Scout just…go ahead and give it to him?He couldn’t just flat-out say he was planning on having Pyro _burn_ it, that’d be even worse.

Oh, what the hell.He took a breath.

“Hey man, I know what ya thinkin’, and ya absolutely right, but uh…I kinda…look, just take the damn paintin’, awright?” Scout said, his voice coming out more gruffly than he meant it to.He felt his cheeks getting hot again as he thrust the canvas toward Sniper.“You can throw it away when I ain’t lookin’, it won’t hurt my feelin’s or nuttin’, I know this is weird, but whatever, so…yeah.”

Gingerly, Sniper plucked the painting from Scout’s hands.As soon as his hands were free, Scout crossed his arms and stared at the TV, watching the game show host as he handed a man in a pirate suit a tiny pink box.He knew he was being a little piss-baby right now, but this whole thing was _not_ going how he’d planned it to.He knew he should’ve just thrown it away, he shouldn’t have ever risked bringing it through the hallway like that, he _knew_ something like this was gonna happen.He hadn’t wanted Snipes to see it, he really, really hadn’t.He and Sniper were just starting to get close, y’know, like _pals_ , and now Sniper was gonna think he was weird, and—and this just _sucked_.

But Sniper was smiling as he looked down at the painting.And he wasn’t trying to hide that smile, either.

Scout’s stomach clenched.

“How’d you get the stars in the background to look like that?” Sniper said, running a fingertip over the canvas’s surface.

He was asking questions about it…?Maybe that meant he didn’t think Scout was a _total_ creep.That was a good thing, for real.“Oh, I uh, I dipped a toothbrush in some white paint and like, I ran my thumb across it and let the paint just fly wherever.Kinda cool, huh?”

_Why_ did he say that last part?Even in his darkest hour, he was still a self-centered prick.Frickin’ great.

“Huh,” Sniper said, tilting the painting this way and that, admiring it.“I’d have never thought o’ that, that’s right clever.”

“Yeah, I learned that in art class, that’s like one of the few things I actually remember from high school,” Scout grinned.

“But are you sure you want me to have it?” Sniper asked him.“Don’t _you_ wanna keep it?It’s quite good, I…I can’t imagine you’d want’er give it away.”

Scout sighed.He’d have to tell him.“Well I kinda…kinda made it for you, specifically, actually…?So I mean…I definitely want ya to have it, but I know that’s real frickin’ weird, Snipes, I wasn’t thinkin’ about it, I know dudes don’t paint shit for other dudes, please don’t think I’m some kinda weirdo.”The words came tumbling from his mouth like a waterfall.Not only were his cheeks warm, but his entire head and neck were, too. 

Sniper looked at him in a way Scout couldn’t describe, but somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Sniper was trying to wordlessly communicate with him.The other man’s eyes were widened ever-so-slightly behind those yellow-tinted glasses, his mouth a nervous, thin line.What was he trying to say that couldn’t come out?That was definitely the same “I-know-I-should-say-something-here-but-I-ain’t-got-a-clue-what” face Sniper had made at the dinner table a few nights ago.Now _Scout_ was the cause of that look.His stomach clenched again, but it was more of a…a flutter, or something, that time. 

“Really, keep it, it’s yours,” Scout said, his voice coming out too gentle and patronizing for his liking, but it was too late to take it back.“To be real honest with ya, I wasn’t gonna show it to ya, ‘cause I know it’s dumb.I was bringin’ it in here so Py could throw it on his burn pile out back, and…”He laughed a little.“I didn’t know ya’d be in here.” 

Sniper stared down at the painting again.“Can’t believe you were gonna burn it,” he said.He looked back up, meeting Scout’s eyes.“Suppose I picked the right time to fetch a book, yeah?”

Scout smiled back.Maybe this wouldn’t pan out so bad, after all.

“Yeah.Guess ya did, Legs.”

 

****

 

After Sniper left the rec room, Scout told Pyro he had to go do something and headed back to his bedroom.He made sure his hallway door was locked, then checked the other door leading into the jack-and-jill bathroom connecting his and Pyro’s rooms.Also locked.Good.He needed some privacy for a sec.

At his bedside, he dropped down to his knees and felt around blindly until his hand collided with what he was looking for.He pulled out a round aluminum box that actually used to be Ma’s old makeup case, but it looked manly enough, so he’d glued the broken latch back on it and saved it from the trash can.He flipped up the latch and opened it.

Inside was a mishmash of things, some sentimental, some not.He swept away a layer of baseball cards and pulled out a worn Playboy magazine.A fringe-banged blonde with a splash of freckles across her nose and heavy makeup ringing her eyes stared up at him.He’d bought it from a gas station a couple years ago, feeling embarrassed and excited all at once as he pointed at the one he wanted behind the cash register, hands shaking as he flashed his driver’s license to the cashier. 

He thumbed it open to a random page.A brunette with perky tits sat on a beach towel in a classic pinup pose, hands clasped behind her head to give “readers” a good look at her generously-sized melons.Scout squinted at her, concentrating hard on the swell of her breasts.After what seemed like a million years, but was probably no more than thirty seconds or so, he felt a twitching down in his groin.

He breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God._

His masculinity secured for yet another day, he was about to put the magazine back into the box…until something else in there caught his eye.He tossed the magazine off to the side of him somewhere and reached into the box, batting away more baseball cards as he unearthed an old, yellowed photograph.

Scout knew what it was going to be a picture of before he picked it up, but he was still surprised at it.  He felt like somebody dumped a huge thing of ice water over him.

Why had he even kept this picture?And a better question, why’d he bring it with him all the way from Boston?He knew the answer—he couldn’t bear to part with it.It was all Scout had left of him.

_Him._

The picture was of him in his Boston Bashers jersey, both arms thrown around the neck of a dude clad in an identical jersey.The dude was in the process of scooping him up princess-style; Scout’s mouth was permanently frozen in mid-shout.The dude’s face, on the other hand, was nothing but warm happiness and a lazy smile, a little bump at the bridge of his nose and a jawline for days. 

Scout remembered it like it was yesterday.One of his teammates had snapped this photo just before Bucky dunked him into the fountain just outside the ballpark.They’d just won the last game in the semifinals—mostly due to their fantastic first-baseman, who just so happened to be Scout.He’d been so happy.His whole team had been happy, but there was no way they were as overjoyed as he and Bucky were—no way.

Funny his name was Bucky.‘Cause, y’know.Like Captain America’s sidekick.They even kinda looked similar, with that wavy reddish hair. 

The picture Scout held in his hands was one of the last happy moments he and Bucky had together. 

Not that Bucky _died_ , or anything; it was a hell of a lot more complicated than that, for real.

That night after the big game, he hopped into Bucky’s car.He had ridden up to Framingham with Bucky, so they wouldn’t have to cram into the school bus to get back to Boston.Before Scout even had a chance to reach for his seatbelt, Bucky grabbed either side of his face, hard, and for a second Scout was certain he was about to get headbutted.But that wasn’t what happened at all.Bucky took a sharp intake of breath and smashed their lips together. 

Scout would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about Bucky…like that.But he’d never act on those feelings, not in a million years, he’d never let himself.Then again, it hadn’t been _him_ that had initiated the kiss, had it?No, it most certainly had _not_ been.So, by default, he could enjoy it guilt-free, right?It hadn’t been his idea, so it didn’t count.

They devoured each other’s mouths for about a minute, but to Scout it seemed like it was over before it even started.Then without saying anything about it, Bucky pulled away, started the car, and drove him home.They rode for nearly an hour in total silence.

And the very next day, Bucky announced that his girlfriend was pregnant.

He avoided Scout every single day after that.Which was hard to do, since Scout was first-baseman and Bucky was the pitcher—they stood in close proximity to one another on the field, and Coach paired them up to toss the ball back and forth during practices.He’d be around Scout if he was forced to, but Bucky never said another word to him.

Not another goddamn word.

“Asshole,” Scout muttered, tossing the photo back into the box with an angry little flick of his wrist.He trickled some baseball cards on top of it, put the Playboy back in there, and shut the case.He kicked the case back under his bed, hearing a dull _thunk_ as it collided against the wall. 

He tipped himself onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, watching the fan go round and round in lazy circles.

“Asshole,” he muttered again, sighing bitterly.

 

****

 

“Forty-two point six-four centimeters,” Engineer said, more to himself than to Scout.He jotted the number down onto a notepad, then went to work unscrewing the complicated measuring device from Scout’s femur.“So if it’s forty-two point six-four in length, then the circumference would be…”He did little loops and curlicues through the air with a metal finger, presumably doing some mental math.“Two point two-three.”He jotted that number down, also, then went back to work removing the uncomfortably tight device of his own design from Scout’s leg.

“So this thing ya makin’,” Scout said, hopping down from the workbench.“It’ll keep my leg from breakin’?”

“Well,” Engineer began, tossing the cagelike measuring tool into a box underneath the workbench, “Doc says it’s breakin’ ‘cause ya got low bone density, so in _theory_ , if ya stick a titanium rod up in there, it oughta get a helluva lot more dense.”Engineer grinned up at him.It was weird to have to look down at somebody, Scout thought.Engineer was easily the shortest man on the team.

“But it can still break, though?” Scout asked, his brows knitting together in worry.  He wasn’t agreeing to this risky surgery just to have a _small chance_ that his leg would stop breaking.  Who would?

“I ain’t a doctor—not a _medical_ doctor, anyhow—but from what I understand, your leg was breakin’ due to just normal stuff, like your runnin’ and jumpin’, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Figure that won’t happen near as often,” Engineer said, pulling a red paisley bandana from the pocket of his overalls to mop at his brow.“And it’ll be able to withstand blunt or penetrative trauma a lot better—that titanium’s just as strong as steel, y’know.And it’s lightweight, so I don’t see it slowin’ ya down none.Now y’might get some hairline fractures on the surface of the bone every now’n again, or…”

He prattled on for a couple minutes more, Scout’s attention fading in and out as Engineer explained how everything about this metal rod and these three screws to hold it in place were gonna be sunshine and rainbows.But all Scout could think about was laying up in a hospital bed for three months, which is how long Medic said his mandatory recuperation time was going to be.Knowing his luck, Scout would take his first step out of bed and _snap._ And when it happened, he’d just crumple to the floor and laugh, because he’d known all along that it would never work.

The more he thought about it, the more pissy he got.Without really realizing it, he started bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, ready to get the hell outta there.He needed to let off some steam.

“…not quite there yet,” Engineer concluded, punctuating his last sentence with a hearty laugh.Scout had no clue at all what Engineer’d just said to him.He’d been watching the shorter man’s mouth move, but he wasn’t able to focus on the words.All this surgery and bone and titanium and whatever talk was making him want to punch something.Or kick something.Or run over something in his car.Or slam a baseball bat into something.Or shoot something.Any of that would work.

Scout put a grin on his face, though, hoping Engineer wouldn't catch on that he had no idea what he’d been saying for the past couple minutes.“Heh.Yeah.That all ya need outta me, or…?”

“I reckon,” Engineer said, clapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder (and thankfully, he’d used his non-metal hand to do so).“You’ll be fine, son.I wouldn’t take part in this if I thought it was dangerous.Quitcher worryin’.”

_(son)_

“Yeah, I’ll try, but”—Scout shrugged—“y’know.”He could feel the smile slipping from his face.“I’ll let ya get back to your, uh…stuff.Seeya tomorrow, Hardhat.”

“G’night.”

Scout pivoted on his heel, taking very controlled footsteps toward the open garage door.He waited until his feet left the smooth concrete and touched down upon the dirt to break out into a run.

He didn’t know where he was going.Didn’t care.The burn in his lungs, the strain in his muscles, it felt good, felt familiar.It was something he could control.If he wanted to stop running, he could.If he wanted to keep going until the world ended, he could do that, too.

But as he ran, he remembered he didn’t bring a weapon with him, save for the Swiss army knife he always carried in his pocket, which didn’t count for a whole hell of a lot.He better not go off-base, then.Instead of running to the base’s back gate, he altered his path, curving off to the right.He’d just run the perimeter of the base a couple times, then, if he couldn’t leave it.And if that got boring, he guessed he could go back in and get a gun and a flashlight to tote with him off-base—

_Wait, what the hell’s that noise?_

Scout could hear something—or some _one—_ in the little crop of scrub trees he’d just passed.He slowed, then trotted to a stop, and doubled back to the spot where he thought he’d heard it.

“Come on, don’t be like that, I’m trying to _help_ you, y’little—“A hiss of pain, then:“That hurt, you ungrateful little mongrel, I oughter leave you in there for that!”

Scout recognized the voice instantly.  A little gritty and rough around the edges, but kind at its core.  Strangely melodious and enticing.  Just like the man it belonged to.

“Snipes?” Scout called into the scrub trees.He was surprised he couldn’t see Sniper’s head poking out of the group of little trees, since they weren’t but five feet tall, but he couldn’t.Sniper must be bent down, or something.He _could_ see the beam of a flashlight skittering around as its handler struggled with it.“Y’havin’ fun in there?”

Sniper grunted in response, then said, “Oi, could I possibly talk you into givin’ me a bit of a hand, here?” 

Scout heard a frantic rustling noise and what sounded an awful lot like an animalistic growl.The flashlight beam juddered over the tops of the trees again as Sniper apparently struggled to keep it steady.Snipes was in there trying to wrangle some kind of animal, wasn’t he?—seemed to Scout like if he lent a hand, he might get it bitten off.

But he’d help, anyway. 

Of course he would. 

“Yeah, hang on, I’m comin’,” Scout said, parting the low-hanging branches and fighting his way in.One of the branches snagged on his ballcap and pulled it from his head, but when he turned around to retrieve it, he couldn’t see it.It was getting dark in a hurry, and he didn’t have a light to—

The flashlight beam shined down at his feet, immensely helping him to navigate through the roots and branches and miniature shrubs below.The beam guided him to Sniper’s side; the man was currently down on his hands and knees, the hand not holding the flashlight gripped against something small and wriggling.Ah, shit, it _was_ some kind of animal he’d dug up, huh?Scout was gonna end up with rabies or mad cow disease or something before the night was over, he just knew it.

“You’d help me out a lot if you’d hold this,” Sniper said, handing him the flashlight.Okay, that, Scout could handle.He took the flashlight and shined it down on the mystery animal.

It was probably the filthiest, most raggedy-ass tabby cat Scout had ever seen in his life.Its back leg was ensnared in a root or a vine or something, something that had tightly wrapped its way around it.It was stuck, Scout realized, and Sniper was trying to get it out.Scout could smell the faint, all-too-familiar tinge of blood in the air, and he wondered if it was coming from the cat, or from Sniper, or from both of them.Probably the latter, if the spitting hisses and yowls from the cat were any indication; no doubt that little bastard put up a fight when Sniper tried to help it, or else it’d already be free by now.

Once Sniper had another free hand, he used it to grab hold of the scruff of the cat’s neck which, in doing so, the cat’s struggling lessened considerably.  Sniper hurriedly fished around in his pants pocket until he pulled out a knife, snapping it open with a practiced flick of his wrist. 

“Now hold still, mate, unless y’want me to cut your whole leg off—“

Sniper slipped the knife-tip underneath the root at the cat’s leg, but once the cat felt something cold and foreign there, its hissing and fighting began again in earnest.  It swiped a paw at Sniper’s forearm, leaving three red lines in its wake.  Scout adjusted the flashlight to have a look, to make sure it wasn’t serious, and he was not surprised to find that the current scratches welling with blood were ones of dozens.  That cat had been slapping the shit outta Sniper for a long while, by the looks of it.

_I’m gonna regret this_ , Scout thought, groaning inwardly as he dropped to his knees.

“Here, I’ll hold its neck-thing,” Scout said, pointing to the cat’s scruff, “and that’ll give you another hand to work with.That’d help, right?”

“Nah, I couldn’t ask you to”—Sniper grunted as the cat tried to wrestle its way out of his grip again—“to do that, he’s spooked, ’n’ he’d probably scratch you.I’ve got ‘im.”

“I got my hands taped,” Scout reasoned.“If he scratches me or whatever, it ain’t gonna hurt.” 

Sniper looked to Scout, to the cat, back to him, then back to the cat.“Okay,” he said.“Careful, though.”

Scout nudged Sniper’s hand out of the way and grabbed the cat’s scruff, simultaneously holding the flashlight high above their heads.  Its fur felt wiry and was gritty with dirt.  He tried not to grimace as he held the cat in place, feeling the _extremely_ agitated critter squirm and jerk under his grip.

“You’re alright, puss, it’ll just be a second now,” Sniper said, his voice a low, soothing croon.With one swift motion, he cut the vine, freeing the cat’s leg.

Now, though, the cat had his haunches free to fight with.He tried to scratch and scrabble his way out of Scout’s grasp, but Sniper grabbed the cat and pinned him to his chest. 

Scout lunged forward to avoid yanking the cat’s head off, his hand still gripping its scruff.His and Sniper’s knees were smashed together.He didn’t know if he should let go now, or what. 

“‘Kay, his leg’s free, can’tcha let him run off and be a free kitty now?”

Sniper gave a little sigh.“He’s hurt.That back leg’s definitely broken.He’ll die if I leave him out here.”

After seeing all the scratches on Sniper’s arms, and after all the hell the cat raised, Scout was kinda thinking it might be time for the cat to visit the great beyond.To buy the farm.To get put out of its misery.Y’know.There was no way Sniper was even going to consider that idea, though.The other man would never be able to kill the cat, broken leg or no—and Scout knew he wouldn’t be able to kill it, either.

“Well we can’t take him to ya camper, ‘cause cats and owls don’t get along,” Scout said.“…Ain’t that right?Cats and birds hate each other, don’t they?”He really, honestly didn’t know a lot about animals.He’d never been around them long enough to learn.

“Owls kill cats,” Sniper nodded.

“Huh, I thought it’d be the other way arou—‘kay, whatever, we gotta hurry up and think a sum’n, ‘cause this lil bastard is obviously _not_ very happy.”The cat had its claws sunk deep into Sniper’s skin, and would’ve been biting the man, too, had Scout not been holding his scruff. 

“Er,” Sniper said. 

“I was thinkin’ Doc’s office, maybe, so he could at least take a look at the leg—but he’s got birds, so that’s a no.He’d throw a fit if we brought a cat in there.”

“I know,” Sniper mumbled.

“And I can feel the fleas jumpin’ off him from here, so I’m kinda not too inclined to put him in _my_ room.”

“I know.”

“Uh, well don’t get freaked out, just gimme a sec to think about this, uh…”  Scout gnawed at his lower lip, trying to come up with something.  So the cat was definitely infested with fleas, because he could feel them jumping on his arms, so bringing him inside the base was a no.  If they had to flea-bomb the base again, Miss P would kill him.  So if they couldn’t bring the cat _inside_ , then…

“Oh, hey!How ‘bout Hardhat’s garage?He’s prob’ly still in there, I just left from there like five minutes ago.We could go ask him if we can stick the cat in there for the time bein’.He’s got a buncha big cages left over from that whole thing with the tumor bread shit, I bet he won’t care if we use one, y’know?We could put the cat in there ‘till we fix the leg and get the fleas off him, at least, then—I dunno, after that.I’ll figure it out.”

Sniper opened his mouth, took a breath, shut it again.He obviously wanted to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.Probably something about not wanting to put Hardhat between a rock and a hard place with a mangy cat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll ask him, you ain’t gotta say nuttin’.Y’think he’ll bite ya if I let go?”

“Nah,” Sniper said, “he’s worn himself out for the most part.If he does bite me, it won’t be nothin’ I can’t handle.”

That was all Scout needed to know.He let go of the cat’s scruff and, just as Sniper had suspected, it was too tired to put up much more of a fight.It still struggled beneath Sniper’s hands, but not half as savagely as it had moments before.

“‘Kay, I’ll try to, like, hold the branches and stuff while we get outta here,” Scout said, pointing the flashlight out in front of him and guiding the way out of the scrub trees.He parted a few limbs and warned Sniper of protruding roots on the ground, leading the two (well, three, technically) of them out of the patch of foliage. 

Once they were out of there, Scout clicked off the flashlight.The night watchman light had clicked on, which was plenty bright enough to light their way.He could see that Engineer’s garage door was still wide open and several lights were on inside, so more likely than not, he was still in there.As they walked toward it, Scout kept looking over to the cat, making sure it hadn’t turned Sniper’s face to ribbons with its claws.Of course, the cat was making an agitated “mrrrh” sound and worming around, but it was weak, and if Sniper’s assumptions were correct (they probably were), it had a broken leg, too.The fight was slowly leaving it.

They stepped off the dirt and onto smooth, shiny concrete.Engineer’s back was turned to them as he tinkered with some metal shit or whatever, Scout didn’t know what it was.The air smelled of sawdust and burnt oil.

“Hey Hardhat, I got a big favor to ask ya,” Scout called, which made the short, portly man abandon the tool in his hand and turn around to face them.

“What can I do ya for—Oh, Lord,” Engineer said, apparently having spotted the nasty cat in Sniper’s arms.It was hard to tell what he was looking at, since he wore those thick welding goggles, but his head was turned in Sniper’s general direction.“Where’d you dig that thing out of, Slim?”

“We found it in those lil trees over there,” Scout answered for him, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.He was trying to edge the blame away from Sniper by saying _we_ , even though _we_ didn’t find a gross cat, _Sniper_ found a gross cat.Scout didn’t know why he was doing that. 

“His leg’s broke and he can’t come inside ‘cause of—well, he just can’t,” Scout continued, not really thinking it wise to mention the thing was covered in fleas just yet.“I was thinkin’ maybe you’d let us stick him in one a those old cages, y’know the ones I’m talkin’ about?And I’ll go fetch Doc right quick and see if he can gun the cat’s leg back together, but we kinda need a place to put him for a minute and—“

Engineer put his hands up.“Hold on there, Skeeter, one thing at a time.You talk a mile a minute, I swear.”He ambled over to the garage door, pushed a button on the wall, and it trundled down.“Now he won’t get outside, at least.Slim, y’think you could hold that feller for another minute or two?”

“Yeah,” Sniper replied, the cat barely even struggling against him now.

“Alright, good.Skeet, them cages you were talkin’ about are in that back room over there.”Engineer pointed to a wooden door off to his left.“You be fetchin’ one a them, and I’ll run in and get the Doc.He ain’t a vet, but I bet he can try.”Sniper’s eyes widened at those words, but Engineer had already turned his back to them, walking through a set of double-doors and back into the main part of the base.

Scout waited till the doors closed to say this next part.

“I’ll call a _real_ vet tomorrow mornin’,” he assured Sniper, outright embarrassed at how sappy and dumb his voice sounded, but he couldn’t help it.“We’ll get that gross lil bastard checked out for real, stop worryin’ about it.” 

Even though the cat’s claws were sunken into him, Sniper still reached a hand up and scratched the cat behind the ears, like they were old pals.The man’s face had fallen into a look of pure despair.Scout could actively feel his heart shattering as he stared at that sunken expression, the feeble reassurances of Sniper’s fingers trailing through the cat’s scruffy fur.

“And I’ll— _I’ll_ take care a the frickin’ cat,” Scout sighed, crossing his arms.“But he ain’t comin’ in my room ‘till he’s flea-free.And also not covered in dirt.Deal?”

“You don’t…” Sniper started, probably attempting to say _you don’t have to,_ or something equally guilt-ridden.  But after a brief pause, he said, “would you really?”

 _Well, with you lookin’ so pitiful like that, how could I tell ya no, it ain’t fair_ , Scout wanted to say.  _Lookin’ like that, you could prob’ly ask me anything and I’d say yeah._

Which was really frightening in its own right, that Sniper could have that effect on him with simply a look, but he’d worry about that later.  Or maybe he wouldn’t.  He probably wouldn’t.

“Ye-ah,” Scout drawled, unfolding his arms and smiling up at Sniper.“I guess.”He wanted to give Sniper a squeeze on the shoulder, but the cat had laid its head against it.Its eyes were shut.Scout thought it was dead for a second, but he saw its whiskers twitch, so he guessed it had just fallen asleep.So he did the next best thing and put a hand at the middle of Sniper’s back, giving him a little reassuring pat.That _was_ the next best thing, wasn’t it?And not weird at all?And it also wasn’t weird at all if his hand lingered there for several seconds, was it?

As soon as he realized what he was doing, Scout lifted his hand away slowly and dropped it back down to his side, trying to be smooth about it, like it was no big deal.Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, he didn’t know.He’d have to think on that one.Or maybe he wouldn’t.He probably wouldn’t.

“And I know the pet store ain’t open this late, obviously, but the Penny Saver’s open all night, so I’ll swing by there later and see if they got any—“

He was going to say _cat food_ , and maybe some of the other stuff cats needed, too, but he was cut off by the sound of the double-doors opening and Engineer and Medic walking through.The doctor had his MediPack strapped to his back and his MediGun in his arms, the hum of the device growing steadily louder as he neared them.

“Forgettin’ to do somethin’, Scoot?” Engineer grinned.

Scout didn’t know what he was talking about for a second, there, but then he remembered.“Aw, shit, the cage,” he said, bolting off to retrieve it.“My bad.”

“Theoretically, the MediGun should work,” Scout heard Medic say, just before he entered the storage room.“But I’ve never tried it on a feline, believe it or not.  Well, let’s give it a shot!”

Scout hurried into the storage room and slammed the door behind him before he could hear anymore.If the cat exploded in Sniper’s arms, or something, he didn’t want to know about it just yet.

He found one of the cages quick enough.They were stacked in the back-left corner of the room, still assembled and everything.He grabbed one from the stack, thinking he could just carry it in his arms, but it was too heavy.He had to put it on the ground and push it out of the room.

“Got the cage,” he announced, still not brave enough to take a peek up at Sniper’s arms.  “Cat still in one piece, Snipes?”

“Yeah.All better,” Sniper said with the cat cradled in his arms, his tone notably more upbeat than it had been before.“We’ll worry about those fleas o’ yours later, won’t we, puss?”

The cat was exhausted, even with his broken leg repaired, so it was no trouble getting him put in the cage.That was one thing, at least.The doc was thanked for his services and he went on his way, bidding them all a “gute nacht” as he left. 

Engineer said that the cat looked like it could use a bath, and while it was still tuckered out and couldn’t protest much, it might be wise to give it a good wash in his slop sink.Sniper thought this was a good idea.Scout, however, wasn’t about to give a frickin’ cat a bath, no way, but he might…possibly, kinda _help_ give the cat a bath, if Snipes _needed_ him to. 

Engineer also informed them that he used to have a ton of barn cats back on his ranch in Texas, and a surefire way to kill fleas was to scrub them down with blue dish soap. 

And Scout knew for a fact that they kept an industrial-sized bottle of blue dish soap in the kitchen.He knew this because he was the one stuck washing dishes ninety-nine percent of the time.Since he knew right where it was, he offered to go fetch it, and also to grab some towels.There came that guilty look to Sniper’s face again—distressed at imposing on Scout, probably.Scout wished he could tell the man in a non-lame, non-saccharine way that he really, truly, did _not_ mind to help him.Sometimes people just needed a lil leg up, a lil favor done, and Snipes shouldn’t feel bad for accepting it.He knew the man wouldn’t buy it, though, so he said nothing.

Scout sped off into the base to grab what he needed, and by the time he got back, Sniper was already wetting the cat down in the slop sink.It was howling something fierce, but it wasn’t fighting too horribly.Its front paws gripped the edge of the sink in desperation, but that only made Sniper’s job easier. 

Scout did help a little bit, feeling really bizarre as he doused a wet cat in dish soap.Sniper scrubbed the stuff in, and it killed fleas, all right.It was a wonder the cat wasn’t eaten alive, judging by all the flea carcasses swirling down the drain. 

Now that the cat was free of grime, too, Scout could tell a little more about it.He thought the cat had been a medium brown color at first, but it had literally just been dirt he was seeing.The cat was actually bright orange.It’s face was a little on the round side, and it was actually kinda not-ugly, but it still had a mean glint in its eye.Scout had seen alley cats like this guy roaming the streets of Boston, tipping over trash cans and brawling with one another.As stupid as it sounded, he never really thought about them being pets.Maybe they used to _be_ pets.Maybe _this_ cat used to belong to somebody…

As if he could read Scout’s mind, Sniper said, “He ain’t feral, he’s bein’ too calm.I know he’s tired, ’n’ that’s a part of it, but I can tell this ain’t the first time someone’s given him a bath.” 

Maybe the cat realized that these two strange men crowding around it were friends instead of foes, because it seemed to be relatively cool with getting a bath—about as cool as a cat could be toward getting wet, Scout presumed.It had dropped its paws down from the side of the sink, and now it merely stood there under the spray of the water, allowing Sniper to scrub it clean without any qualms.It still let out a yowl that sounded eerily like a human child every now and again, but other than that, it seemed to be doing alright.

Drying the cat was a different story, but the two of them worked together and got it done pretty well.Scout was only scratched once.In the midst of drying, Sniper announced that the cat was most certainly male.Scout had pretty much assumed that; it just looked like a dude cat.

Scout didn’t want to let it loose in his room before he went and picked up a litter box, for obvious reasons, so he had Sniper put it back into the cage for the time being.He had a little water bowl, a folded-up towel for temporary bedding, and a plate of leftover meat scraps from that night’s dinner.He wolfed down the shredded bits of chicken with a frenzied hunger, pausing only to lap at the water bowl for a moment before attacking the plate again.Scout had to admit, it made him sad that the thing was so hungry.Nothing oughta be hungry.

He wasn’t so sure if he wanted it living in his _room_ , but it was too late to back outta that now.

Sniper was crouched down, watching the cat eat.“Good stuff, eh, puss?You’re lookin’ better already, mate.Doc’s gun fixed your leg, ’n’ gave you your eye back, ’n’ your ear’s not torn in half anymore…no more fleas…bet y’feel loads better, yeah?”

He’d talk to the cat all night long, but he could barely tell the waitress thanks for refilling his coffee.Weird how that worked.Maybe it was because the cat couldn’t talk back.

“I’m gonna run down to the Penny Saver and see what they got,” Scout said after Sniper finished conversing with the cat.“Wanna go?”

Sniper straightened himself up, dusted the fur from his vest, and gave Scout a small smile.

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't condone the bathing of unfamiliar cats, because unless you're a cat whisperer, it probably won't end well. But original Dawn dish soap really does kill fleas, I didn't make that up just for the story. If your cat is chill enough for you to give it a bath and it has a flea problem, I'd say go for it. Most cats aren't ok with you giving them a bath, though, obviously. So proceed with caution. (And it works on dogs, too.)
> 
> I know it seems like this story's going nowhere in a hurry, and I guess it is, but I feel like it'd be better if I get a little exposition done before anything major happens. And anyway, I kind of started this story to be more slice-of-life; it may not ever "go anywhere." I guess I'll just have to wait and see what I end up writing ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case, I think this chapter needs trigger warnings. Like I did for the other chapter, I'll list the warnings at the beginning of the end chapter notes, so please scroll down and read them if you need to.

Not surprisingly, Sniper had no idea what to do in this sort of situation.This was so awkward.It felt like his insides consisted of nothing but worms wriggling through dirt.He knew he should say something, but he could think of nothing good.He sat with his back propped against the side of Scout’s bed, the wailing guitar riffs of a Led Zeppelin song reaching his ears, fingers picking at a loose thread in the seam of his trousers.

When the last song ended and the music faded to nothing but scratchy static, Scout rose from the bed and flipped the record to the B-side.He lingered there in front of the turntable for a moment, fists clenching and unclenching, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.But after a moment he turned around, walked to the side of the bed, and sat down beside Sniper.

Sniper could still think of nothing to say to him.

 

Amigo roused himself from his basket at the foot of the bed, pausing to stretch and yawn before padding over and collapsing into Scout’s lap.  It was Pyro who’d chosen the name for the scruffy orange tabby.  Sniper thought it oddly appropriate; its round eyes, squashed-in face, and stocky frame looked very friendly indeed.  He reached out his hand and scratched behind Amigo’s ears.

Scout huffed out a mirthless laugh as he drummed his fingers against the cat’s belly.“What if he’s better than me?” he said, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion.“What if they fire me?”

After a moment, Sniper said, “they won’t fire you,” because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah, ya prob’ly right, they’ll just take me out past respawn range and put a bullet in my head.”Another mirthless laugh.He rubbed at his face with his hands.“Jesus, I’m screwed.What’m I gonna do, Snipes?Should I call it off, should I tell Doc I changed my mind?”

“No,” Sniper said immediately, “‘course not.They can’t fire you for needin’ surgery, Miss Pauling told you that herself.And even if they could, they wouldn’t.You’re the best bloody scout RED’s ever had.”

Sniper would know.He joined up with RED a full two years before Scout did, and it seemed like every few weeks, here came another scout to fill the place of the one who’d just quit.And if Sniper had been working here for seven years, that would mean Scout had held his own position for five.

Scout seemed to let those words percolate for a moment as he fumbled with the tiny silver bell tied to Amigo’s collar.“But what if everybody just—just _falls in love_ with this temporary guy they’re bringin’ in, though, I mean…three months is a frickin’ long time for me to be M.I.A.It’d be, like, the perfect opportunity for the Administrator to sweep my stupid ass under the rug.”He smoothed his palm (surprisingly free of grip tape) over the cat’s back, over and over and over.“This cat’s fur feels like a frickin’ Brillo pad,” he said with a sniff, but he didn’t stop the petting.

“He is a bit wiry,” Sniper mumbled in agreement, though Sniper thought that just gave the cat more charm.“And it don’t matter if they like the new guy or not, as soon as you’re better, he’s out the door.You say it to me all the time, ’n’ now I’ll say it to you—quit worryin’ abou’ it, mate.” 

Had the tables been turned and Scout was the one doing the consolation, the other man would’ve reached out and given Sniper one of those odd little shoulder squeezes he was so fond of.But Sniper hadn’t worked his way up to initiating any sort of bodily contact yet.Sometimes he felt like he wanted to _try_ , which was a milestone in and of itself, but he hadn’t.

Yet.

Scout was quiet for a moment, which was unnerving—it wasn’t like him at all.Had the room not been filled with the soulful stylings of Zep, Sniper probably wouldn’t have been able to take the man’s silence.After petting the cat and staring at the wall, then petting the cat again, followed by staring at the wall some more, Scout puffed his cheeks out in a heavy sigh.

“Man, if that was the only thing to worry about, maybe I’d be good,” Scout muttered, gnawing at his bottom lip with his buck teeth.He turned his head to look at Sniper, and his eyes were so strikingly blue, so glassy, it almost felt like Sniper had seen something he shouldn’t’ve.Sniper swallowed.

“Hey, I know this is kinda outta left field, but uh…can I tell ya sum’n?Y’know, like…sum’n kinda private?”

Those pitiful eyes and that hushed voice were almost too much for Sniper to bear.It made him feel strange, it made him feel…something.He wasn’t sure what.Almost like a sense of longing, but a bit different.He was still new at the whole _feelings_ thing; some of them were still hard to identify.

Sniper nodded.“Yeah, ‘course.Go on.”After he said that, he realized it probably hadn’t been the best word choice nor tone of voice to use.“Er, I mean,” he said, backpedaling, “if y’want.Reckon I’m a good listener.”

Scout’s lips glistened with saliva.The moment he stopped petting Amigo, the cat chuffed in mild irritation and snaked into Sniper’s lap.Sniper patted at him absently.

“Well it’s just,” Scout began, “after ya have surgery, obviously you’re in a lotta pain.”He stared down at his hands.“And ya think ya get used to pain, with the job we got, but…I dunno if I can take it, just layin’ there with nuttin’ else to think about, ‘cept how bad it hurts.” 

“I’m sure Doc’ll give you somethin’ for the pain,” Sniper reasoned.Medic wasn’t quite the sadistic prick he once was, not like when he’d first joined RED; Sniper didn’t know what had given the doctor a change of heart, but something certainly had.Sniper doubted that Medic would allow Scout to stew in his own agony.Surely he’d give him something to dull the pain.

Scout shook his head, ran a hand through his hair.“He can’t.Well he _can_ , but what he _can_ gimme, it ain’t gonna do shit.Thing is, I…”He sighed again.“After my leg broke that very first time, right before I graduated high school, the doc—my doc back in Boston, not _our_ Doc—well, he gave me Codeine tablets.Y’know.For the pain.And I kinda…got real bad addicted to ‘em.” 

He moved the fingers of one hand over the back of his other hand, as if he were about to pick at the grip tape that wasn’t there.On finding none, he entwined the fingers of one hand with the fingers of the other, like he might be about to utter a strange prayer.

“Crazy thing about it is, ya get a tolerance to shit like that real quick,” Scout said.“Re-eal goddamn quick.”He flicked his eyes to Sniper, who visibly winced when he did.God, Sniper wished he hadn’t winced, why did he _wince_?Scout was looking away now.Sniper’d offended him, hadn’t he?He was about to flounder out an apology when Scout continued.

“Doctors kinda don’t mention that part to ya.Y’know, take this magic pill, and you’ll feel good for a couple weeks, but then you’ll hafta keep takin’ more and more and more till ya buyin’ ‘em off the street—takin’ eighteen, twenty of ‘em a day like they’re in a frickin’ Pez dispenser.Then all’ve a sudden ya dealer says he got sum’n else ya might like to try, and why the hell not, so ya mixin’ Codeine with red devils.”

A wry smile briefly crossed his lips before it turned into a grimace of disgust.Scout reached over and put his hand on the cat, not petting or scratching, just holding it there.That, Sniper could certainly relate to.Animals could be quite calming things, and they didn’t even know it. 

“Red devils ain’t sum’n to mess around with, but I didn’t know that, I just knew I…I dunno.And my dumb ass was mixin’ em with Codeine when I could only afford a couple a one or the other, and before ya know it, I’m wakin’ up in an alleyway somewhere with Miss P standin’ over me.Holdin’ this big needle.”He indicated the syringe’s size with his hands, spreading them about a foot apart.Another mirthless laugh slipped from his lips.“She had to put pure adrenaline straight into my heart to wake me back up.Thought she was an angel when I first saw her—thought I frickin’ died.Prob’ly _did_ die for a few minutes, there.”

He put his hand back on the cat.Amigo chirruped softly.“And I’ll never forget it, the first thing she said to me.She said, ‘how would you like a job?We’ll pay you a shitload of money to get in fights.’”

Sniper finally spoke up.“Said the exact same thing to me,” he nodded.Probably not the best sentence to break his silence with, but Scout didn’t seem to mind it.

“Think that’s why I had such a big crush on her for so long,” Scout said.“She kinda saved my life, and all.Gave me a good job.I remember—heh, I remember savin’ my money for a whole year to get Ma a new couch for our livin’ room, this one time.Felt so good to hand her the deed to her new house.”His eyes looked faraway, wistful.“Kinda makes me wonder if I’d be here at all if I didn’t…if I didn’t use to be a…frickin’ dumbass, y’know?”

“I wonder the same thing abou’ meself,” Sniper said.“Where I’d be if I hadn’t ever come here.I can’t even imagine it.”

Scout shook his head.“Me neither.”

 

Scout leapt up from the floor and jerked the needle from the record, the speakers echoing a jarring _vrrp_ sound throughout the room.

“I need some air,” he announced, commanding his lips to smile.“Wanna go?”

Sniper didn’t know where they were going, but he was very much in agreement about needing some air.Also, he found he didn’t care about knowing where they were going.He was rather beginning to like Scout’s unpredictableness.He put the cat on the bed, gave him a little pat on the head, and followed Scout out the door.

 

****

 

Somehow they ended up on top of his camper.

Before he barged out of his room, Scout hadn’t thought to grab a jacket.Sniper said he could borrow one of his, if he wouldn’t mind stopping by the camper.They went inside, Sniper allowing the other man pick of the closet, and Scout had chosen the same sweater he’d tucked around him the day they first went to that Waffle House—the red cardigan with the black trim.It was too big for Scout, but it’d serve its purpose just the same.

_(i like the way the sleeves bunch up at his wrists like that)_

Once outside, Scout happened to look up and see the telescope atop the Winnie.He said he’d never looked through a telescope before.

Well, that was a shame, that was.

Pretty night.Loads of stars out.Did he want to have a look?

He did.

“‘I can definitely see how that’d be the Big Dipper,” Scout said, peering through the eyepiece of the telescope, “but I ain’t seein’ no bear, Snipes.”

“Yeah,” Sniper said, “I think that one’s a bit of a stretch.I can only make it out when I’ve got a star chart in front of me.”And even then, Ursa Major didn’t really look like a bear to him.At all.“Still seein’ the Dipper in your scope?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay—kind of trail your eyes down the handle of it.”

“‘Kay…”

“And do you see that swirly, globby bit just to the right of it?”

“Hang on,” Scout muttered, tweaking the telescope the tiniest bit, like Sniper had showed him.  When he did, he gasped a little.  The sound caused a warm thrill to buzz up Sniper’s spine.

_He’s getting a kick out of this.I can’t believe he’s not bored out of his skull._

“Whoa, what the hell _is_ that?” Scout said, twisting the focus knob to zoom in on it. 

“Whirlpool galaxy,” Sniper said.“That thing beside it’s a dwarf galaxy.” _Messier 51b,_ he thought, but he might not ought to mention that part.He didn’t want to come off as too much of a know-it-all.

“This is gonna sound weird,” Scout said, “but I can’t believe that’s even a thing I can look at right now.Like, this is NASA shit.”

“It _is_ hard to believe you can see an entire galaxy up there,” Sniper mused.“Makes y’feel small, dunnit?”

“For real,” Scout agreed.“Hey, ya think there’s aliens up there?”

Sniper grinned.“Think abou’ this,” he said.“Earth is in the Milky Way galaxy, yeah?”

Scout crinkled his nose, still looking into the eyepiece of the telescope.“Yeah, I think I knew that, I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“Okay, well…Earth is just one planet out of a hundred billion others in the Milky Way.’N’ I for one don’t think _one_ lil planet out of a hundred _billion_ is gonna be the only one wiv life on it.There’s gotta be somethin’ else out there.”

Scout leaned up from the telescope and pulled up one of his sleeves, laughing a little under his breath.“That seriously just put chill-bumps on my arms, man, look.”

“I can’t _look_ , dummy, it’s too bloody dark out here.”

“Well _feel_ , then,” Scout said, tugging Sniper’s hand to his arm, brushing it across the goose-pimpled skin.After a second, he loosed his grip on Sniper’s hand, but Sniper couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the other man’s arm.

Because it felt nice to feel that skin underneath his palm.It wasn’t horrendous or gross or anything like that at all.It was…

It…it was _calming._

After steeling his courage for a moment, Sniper turned his gaze upward to meet Scout’s eyes.They were wide and inquisitive, the faraway night watchman barely offering enough light to cast a glimmer into them.He could hardly make them out in the dark.

But he had no trouble feeling the hands that found their way to either side of his face, nor did he have trouble feeling the thumbs that rubbed soothing half-circles at his cheekbones.

Oh God, _oh God_ , this was really happening, wasn’t it, this wasn’t a hallucination or a dream or Alice tripping down the rabbit-hole, this was real.Really _real_.His hand had tumbled from Scout’s forearm, and he realized with horror that it now lay resting against Scout’s thigh.But how could he move it without being too conspicu—

A numbness washed over him as he watched Scout lean towards him, slow and cautious, their faces inching closer and closer to one another.He knew what was about to happen, and part of him screamed for him to scramble out of the way, to jump down from the Winnie’s roof and lock himself inside his camper and try to forget about all of this.Another part of him, the part currently keeping him rooted to the spot, knew full-well how many times Sniper had played this scenario out in his mind, knew he wanted to let this happen.

He was at war with himself over what to do, his hand still perched atop Scout’s thigh, when a pair of warm lips pressed against his.

He closed his eyes.

The lips pulled away and Sniper panicked, thinking he’d done something wrong, or—or maybe his lips were too chapped or the skin round his mouth was too prickly.But they were only gone for a fraction of a second before they were back, focusing on his lower lip rather than the upper one now. 

Wasn't Sniper supposed to be doing something, too, here?

_Kiss him back, you sodding idiot!_

He didn’t really know how to do that, but he tried his best to ease his own lips into the other man’s, meshing them together like surprisingly well-fitting puzzle pieces.He felt like there was something he was forgetting to do, because shouldn’t this be more disgusting than it was?Shouldn’t there be more smacking and movement and other cringe-inducing things? 

Apparently he’d made the correct choice in his actions, however, because Scout had his arms draped around Sniper’s neck now, his body crumpling into Sniper’s lap and his breath huffing from his nostrils in short little sniffs.One knee was dangerously close to Sniper’s crotch, and the other ground itself into the jut of Sniper’s hip bone.Sniper had to bend his spine into a sort of candy-cane shape to maintain contact with Scout’s mouth.It was not comfortable, yet…it felt very, very right. 

As their lips parted long enough for Scout to tip his head to the opposite side, claiming Sniper’s bottom lip again with something that could’ve either been eagerness or desperation, Sniper eased his arms around the other man.He wasn’t sure where to put his hands, so he didn’t put them anywhere; he tilted his wrists up and held them out at right angles.That was also wrong, he knew, but better than putting his hands in the incorrect spot.Maybe.Perhaps he’d just ask, after this.

It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds later when Scout pulled their mouths apart, this time for good.His head fell into the crook between Sniper’s neck and shoulder.Thankfully, he removed the knee at Sniper’s hip bone and flopped his leg over to Sniper’s side. 

“That’s my bum leg, I ain’t got a lotta feelin’ left in my knee,” he murmured, voice muffled from Sniper’s shirt.“I didn’t know it was stabbin’ ya like that.”

“’S alright,” Sniper said, staring up at the stars, but not really seeing them.

He felt Scout’s hands grab two fistfuls of his shirt, clinging to him.Scout started to say something, making a “yhh” sort of sound, but he never said anything.Instead he put his forehead on Sniper’s shoulder, resting it there.

Sniper’s wrists were cramping.He had to put his hands somewhere.Scout would just have to forgive him if they weren’t in the right spot.He thought a hand at either side of Scout’s waist was fairly safe—several inches above the belt, and all—so that’s where he put them.And when he did, he felt rather than heard Scout sighing against him, so he figured that meant it was okay.

Certainly _felt_ okay.

Better than okay, actually.

This was nice.

A bit strange, but nice.

Sniper wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, all wadded up together like that, but Scout was the one who pulled away first.He detached himself from Sniper, sliding backwards across the camper till he was next to the telescope again.His hand twitched like he was about to reach for it, but he didn’t.

“How do ya know all that stuff about space, Snipes?” Scout asked.“They teach that in school over in Australia?”

“Nah,” Sniper said.“I’m, er…sure you can imagine I didn’t exactly have a lot of mates in school.Spent all me free time in the library.Read a bunch o’ astronomy books.Copied down star charts ’n’ such, kep’ ‘em in this big three-ring binder I had.Dunno.Just…always held me interest, I suppose.”

“So that’s how come ya wanna go to Roswell,” Scout said.“‘Cause ya like stargazin’ and stuff.I was wonderin’ about that.Heh.Guess I coulda just asked.”

Well, if Scout was interested enough to ask, he may as well expand upon it a bit.“Think I’d rather go to Area 51 than Roswell, honestly.”

“There’s supposed to be some real shady business goin’ on out there,” Scout nodded.“Crazy government shit.They say there’s like these weird military planes flyin’ over all the time, and like spaceships that’ve crashed to earth?They test-flight ‘em there, or sum’n.And ya can’t get too close or these guys in white jeeps come and shoot ya tires out.”

Sniper had heard all of that and then some.As Scout spoke, he nodded fervently.“The highway just outside it’s public land,” he said.“Anybody can park there ’n’ camp.Be nice to sit out there ’n’ watch for aliens, yeah?”

“Betcha could see all kindsa stuff with this thing,” Scout said, jabbing his thumb over at the telescope.

“You could.”

“Hey, maybe like, y’know, after…after all this shit with my leg’s straightened out in three months, uh…we could like…do that.”

Sniper was about to ask _do what_ , but he put two and two together pretty quickly.

He grinned.“You ever been campin’ before?”

“Pff.  _No_.”

Sniper’s smile widened.“Y’ain’t gonna like it, mate.”

“I bet I would,” Scout countered.“I could sit out there and draw or sum’n if I got bored.Take my dirt bike out there and ride around.”He took a sharp intake of breath, like he’d just thought of something brilliant.“We could bring ladderball, ya ever played ladderball?There’s like this ladder-thing—well clearly there’s a ladder, it’s called _ladderball,_ but—and ya take these things, they’re like two balls on a string, right?And ya throw ‘em and try to get ‘em to wrap around one of the ladder poles, and…”

Scout explained about ladderball, and an equally odd-sounding game called corn hole—which he said Engineer had turned him on to at one of the many team get-togethers Sniper had not attended.Lots of fun, Scout said, he’d like ‘em.Engineer would let them borrow his set, he was sure of it.They could play them while they were waiting for the aliens to show up.And when the stars came out, Sniper could show him more stuff through the telescope.It’d be a minimum of three months before he could walk on his own, and even then he might not feel up to traveling, but still, they ought to plan on going to Area 51 together sometime.They really should.Sounded fun, didn’t it? 

Sniper definitely needed to bring his telescope, and Scout was wanting to buy a nice camera anyway, so he’d get a camera and they could take pictures of any spaceships that happened to fly by—because there _would_ be spaceships.Sniper would have to drive, of course, since Scout obviously didn’t have an RV, but Scout promised he’d pay for gas (like it mattered who paid for what).And, and, and…

Sniper did very little of the talking.He mainly just listened.To him it sounded like nothing more than a pipe dream, but he’d never say that.He just agreed with him, said his ideas were nice, all that.And they _were_ nice.But he didn’t reckon either of them would be getting time off work in the near future.Also, three months from then would be November, and the nighttime Nevada desert was supposed to be brutally cold during that time of year. 

But he mentioned neither of those things.  Scout’s surgery was the following morning, after all.  If he went into it with a nice, lofty idea like a spaceship-hunting trip in his mind, well…that would be all the better.

_Suppose we’re not gonna talk about what just happened, then,_ Sniper thought.Which was probably a good thing, truth be told.He didn’t know what to make of it yet.It didn’t quite seem real, but every now and then he’d get a whiff of Scout’s cologne (or soap, or general scent, or a mixture of all three) that still clung to him, much as Scout had clung to him not ten minutes ago.It reminded him that it really _did_ happen. 

Well.He might not know what to make of it, but he knew one thing:he was glad he hadn’t pulled away, like he’d wanted to at first.He was glad he’d let it happen.He wondered what Scout thought of it though, and—

Wait.

Scout had been the one that kissed _him_ , not the other way around.So that meant…

That meant…

…what _did_ that mean?

“But I was gonna tell ya,” Scout said, snapping Sniper out of his thoughts.“Doc’s puttin’ me under at, like, eight tomorrow mornin’, and he said the surgery shouldn’t take more than like four hours, if that.But I was gonna say, like, I should be awake and stuff by that night, but I’ll be _out_ of it, comin’ up from the knockout gas.So uh…what I’m gettin’ at is, it’d be cool if you came and visited me and stuff, while I’m stuck in bed, y’know?But tomorrow I’ll be so doped up on anesthesia, I ain’t gonna remember anything.So ya ain’t gotta come around tomorrow, unless ya just really, really wanna.But I ain’t gonna remember if ya there or not, so.”He shrugged.

Sniper nodded, though he doubted Scout could see that in the dark.“Alright.”

He knew he'd visit Scout tomorrow, though. 

Of course he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in this chapter for  
> -a decently detailed mention of drug abuse  
> -needle/syringe mention (not very graphic)  
> Not a lot, but I would rather mention it than not, just in case.
> 
>  
> 
> (X-Files theme song playing in the background) They're out there...
> 
> Remember two chapters ago when Sniper thought Scout's eyes looked "like a million little stars had fallen into them"? That was my shitty attempt at foreshadowing. (thumbs-up emoji)
> 
> For the chapter coming up, I wanna go ahead and say that I think the beginning's going to be a little confusing. I alternate between Scout and Sniper's POV when I write the chapters, but if it pans out the way I'm thinking it will, it'll have to be in someone else's. Just wanted to mention it, in case that's what I end up doing. I didn't want anybody to be confused. 
> 
> In my experience, overly-energetic and outgoing folks (like I imagine Scout to be) love to plan trips. They plan trips with you, they plan trips they're gonna take by themselves, they plan trips where your mom can come too...not really thinking rationally about it. Just having fun daydreaming more than anything, I think. Since I've met way more than one person who's like this, I think it's safe to say that most people know a person who likes to plan trips and probably won't ever go on them. Maybe Sneep and Scooter really will get to go to Area 51 together, who knows--Nevada's not THAT far away from New Mexico, so it's definitely plausible.
> 
> Then again, it took 50,000 words for them to work up to smooching, so vacationing together may be in the third book of the trilogy lmao


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with trigger warnings, so be sure to scroll down to the end notes before reading this chapter if you'd like to see them.

Today was the day.

The MediGun was a wonderful thing, there was no denying that.Up until last year, when he’d resurrected Herr Sniper from the dead, it had been his finest medical achievement.The only thing Medic disliked about the MediGun (other than the weight of the MediPack making his shoulders ache) was that it nearly made routine surgeries a thing of the past.Instead of his patients going under his knife, he merely pointed the MediGun at them for a few seconds, and they were right as rain.

But the MediGun wasn't perfect.Far from it, actually.There were certain things it could not do, for reasons the combined minds of Medic and Engineer couldn’t explain.It had something to do with the nature of the respawn chamber, it seemed, but how to rectify that problem was still a mystery.Ach, no matter.Some things just had to be done the old-fashioned way.

And how Medic missed the old-fashioned way.

“You are in good mood this morning,” Heavy remarked, smiling broadly as he reclined in Medic’s office chair.He’d come in to help, but Medic wouldn’t need him for a few more minutes.Young Scout wasn’t due to arrive for another hour, but there was much preparation to be done before then.It had been since Herr Sniper that he’d gotten to do any serious carving with his scalpel, and he wanted to make sure every little thing was in order.

“I don’t get to do this very often, you know,” Medic said.He smoothed his hands over the crisp white sheet covering the operating table.So clean, so pure…it wouldn’t be that way for long.“I want everything to be _per_ fect.”

The instrument table.He ought to wheel it over, get a feel for where to put it.As he strolled to the other side of the room, he passed Heavy, pausing a moment to put a little peck on the man’s temple before going on.He tried to continue walking, but was forced to stop when he felt a pair of gargantuan hands on his shoulders.The hands spun him around to come face-to-face (or more accurately, face-to-chest) with Heavy.He had time to widen his eyes in surprise before those hands gripped his waist, lifting him several feet into the air.Medic’s stomach dropped at the sudden ascent.

He beat his fists against Heavy’s shoulders, but he could do nothing to keep the smile from springing to his lips.“Put me _down_ , bärchen, you _know_ I hate it when you—“ 

But he punctuated that sentence with a most unmanly shriek as Heavy tossed him high into the air, the top of his head brushing the ceiling.He fell neatly into Heavy’s outstretched arms, his vision temporarily blurred by his glasses being knocked askew.He pushed them back up the bridge of his nose as Heavy roared with laughter.Medic shook his head at him as he clambered his way out of the man’s embrace. 

“I wanted you here to _help_ me, and you are not helping,” Medic said with faux indignation, straightening his rumpled lab coat.“You are _hindering_.”

“But I am helping,” Heavy smiled.

“Ja?  And how is throwing me into the ceiling tiles helping?”

“You like it,” Heavy said, pulling Medic close again and putting a noisy kiss at his lips.“You smile.Is helping.”

Medic made a dramatic spectacle of wiping the slobber from his lips, batting Heavy away from him.“Oh, you are distracting me, I must get back to my vork.”He crossed the room and retrieved the instrument table, wheeling it over to the operating table’s side. 

“Look at this,” Medic said, holding up a long, slim metal rod in one hand.

“What is that?”

“This is what I vill use to stabilize Scout’s femur,” he said.“I’ll bend his leg, slice open his kneecap, and then I’ll take _this_ little angel”—he picked up a small metal mallet from the instrument table—“and hammer it up into the bone.”Medic was practically salivating at the thought. 

“Doktor is getting too happy about this, I think,” Heavy said with a quirked eyebrow.

“I just enjoy my work, that’s all,” Medic said, sitting the tools back down on the table.“Now then, we must sterilize this entire room.Beginning with ourselves.”He began walking towards the adjoining surgery prep room, beckoning Heavy to follow him.“Come this way, please.”

Medic could hear Heavy stomping along behind him, then heard him say, “This will involve getting _naked_ , da?”

Medic was glad Heavy couldn’t see his face at that moment.It had to have been downright _saccharine._ That man had turned him into such a spineless pushover.

But maybe he was a little bit glad to be a spineless pushover, in a strange sort of way.

“Yes, we will be getting naked, to disinfect ourselves and change into appropriate attire, but there’s no time for fun,” he said.“We have much to do before Scout arrives in…”He grabbed Heavy’s wrist and stared at his watch.“Forty-nine minutes.”

Heavy set to work unbuttoning Medic’s lab coat with practiced swiftness.All the buttons undone, he pushed it from Medic’s shoulders and let it pool to the floor.“Maybe… _five_ minutes of fun?” he persisted, peppering Medic’s cheeks and neck with kisses. 

Medic felt like he was melting.It didn’t matter how many times this happened, how predictable and routine it was.He loved it.Heavy had the power to strangle him with one hand, to pick him up and crack his spine in half with no effort, but he wouldn’t.Heavy would never, ever lay a hand on him in anger, and Medic knew that.

Not like some _other_ people he’d had the displeasure of working with, but he didn’t want to think about that at the moment.Or ever again, if at all possible.

“I’d love to, bärchen, but there’s too much work to be done,” he said, leaning away from Heavy’s ministrations and stroking the man’s shiny bald head.His rubber gloves made delightfully grating squeaks against the smooth skin there. 

Heavy frowned at him.

“Don’t make that face at me,” Medic said, pinching Heavy’s cheeks, “you know I can’t bear to look at that sad face you make.I promise I’ll make it up to you.Tonight.”He waggled his eyebrows enticingly.

Heavy raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side, seeming to consider this proposition.“Tonight could work,” he reasoned.

“Then it’s a date,” Medic said, allowing himself to brush his lips against Heavy’s before pulling away.“But now we must work,” he said in a much louder tone, scooping up his lab coat and tossing it into a tall clothing hamper.“Remove all of your clothing and put them in here, and no funny business, I mean it.”

“No funny business,” Heavy said, peeling his shirt away from his body, wadding it up and tossing it into the hamper.“Saving funny business for later.”

It took a considerable amount of effort for Medic not to cackle at that comment, but laughter would only encourage Heavy’s mischief, and they simply didn’t have time for it.There was still so much to do.He bent down to untie his boots, and was met with a faceful of Heavy’s underwear the man had slingshotted at him from across the room.

After chucking the garment into the hamper, Medic opened his mouth to scold the other man, but Heavy’s infectious laughter reached his ears before he could get a word in edgewise.He let out a sigh instead, rolling his eyes at the naked man before him.

 

****

 

There were dark circles under Scout’s eyes; it was obvious he hadn’t slept a wink.He had come in wearing a darling little handmade sweater over his usual pajamas, a red one with black trim.And even when Medic gave him a hospital gown to change into, he’d come out of the prep room with the sweater draped carefully over a forearm, not wanting to part with it.Like a child with a teddy bear, Medic thought.Perhaps his mother had knitted it for him, and it was a comfort item of sorts.Still, it couldn't be in the operating room.With great reluctance, Scout handed the sweater over to Heavy, who took it into Scout’s soon-to-be hospital room for safekeeping.

Now Scout lay on the operating table before Medic, the young man’s eyes wide and his fists clenched as Medic injected the general anesthesia into the crook of his arm.When the needle broke the skin, Scout hissed in a breath through his teeth and looked away.Strange—he was killed in a number of gruesome ways every workday, but he couldn’t stand a little needle-prick.Such a baby.

But he looked so pathetic, Medic couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy.He didn’t used to feel such things for his patients—that verdammt Heavy must be _humanizing_ him.

Ugh.

“Count back from ten, liebchen,” Medic said, Heavy coming in behind him to properly dispose of the syringe.

“Huh?” Scout asked, his eyes already taking on a bleary glassiness.

“Begin counting backwards from ten.”

“Wh…why, though?”

Medic stifled a sigh.“So I know when the anesthesia takes effect.” _Idiot_ , he added silently.

Scout mumbled a series of unintelligible syllables as his eyes drifted closed.Medic hovered his hands inches away from Scout’s face and clapped them a few times.No response.He gave Scout’s bicep a pinch.Nothing.

“Scout?” he hollered.“Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“He’s out,” Medic announced, a giddy smile spreading across his face.He fiddled with the knobs and levers on the side of the operating table, adjusting the bottom third of it to angle downwards, bending Scout’s legs at the knee.That done, he stomped against the hydraulic foot pedal until Scout’s knee was within comfortable slicing distance. 

“Heavy?” Medic called, trailing his finger across the instrument table.He was trying to decide which of his designer scalpels to use to make the inaugural incision.Maybe the gold…?Yes, the gold one with the sapphire-encrusted handle.That one would do nicely. 

“Yes, doktor?”

Medic picked up the scalpel, holding it as one would hold an ink pen.“Be a dear and angle that light a bit closer, ja?” 

He peeled back the hem of Scout’s dressing gown, giving him ample room to work.His toes curled inside his sterile rubber shoes as he hovered the blade above Scout’s kneecap.

Heavy brought the light down lower, the gems adorning the scalpel’s handle sparkling, almost like they were in a display case at a jewelry store.

Medic took a deep breath.Let it out slowly.

“It’s time to begin.”

 

****

 

Medic had been hoping the use of the MediGun wouldn’t be necessary, but it was either use it or have Scout’s nearly-deceased husk whisk off to respawn.Respawn, of course, would undo the hours of work he’d already put into the procedure, so he’d like to avoid it if at all possible.

“Heavy?” Medic said wearily, keeping an eye trained on the vitals monitor.Scout’s body was rejecting the intramedullary rod already; his entire upper leg was turning a darker and darker red as the minutes passed.Medic knew this might happen, but he figured several doses of steroids would take care of it.It hadn’t.

“Doktor?”

“Please go and find Engineer for me.  Tell him to bring the device just in case, but…but I think I have an idea.”

Heavy nodded, his mouth a tight-lipped frown.“Da,” he said, tossing his bloodstained rubber gloves into the biohazard bin before he marched from the room.

Medic gave a little sigh.  There wasn’t much he could do now except staunch the bleeding and monitor his patient’s vitals.  Normally the thought of amputating an entire leg would give him a thrill; it had been years since he’d used his bone saw in a non-combative situation.  Oddly enough, he found himself wanting to _save_ the appendage instead of wanting to hack it off.

He stared at the blood-spattered, golden scalpel in his hand, turning it this way and that, watching the light wink off its sharp blade.He didn’t know much about building things, but his idea may very well be feasible.

As soon as Engineer got here, the two of them would set to work devising a plan.

 

****

 

Scout opened his eyes.Stared up at the ceiling.That wasn’t his bedroom ceiling.Where the hell was he?

Oh, yeah.

The femur surgery.That was today, wasn’t it?He must be through with the surgery now.

He felt the cool draft of an air conditioner on his left forearm.  It felt nice for a second, but then he thought of something.  If he could feel a draft, then…

Snipes’s sweater.  Oh God.  He didn’t remember what he did with it, didn’t even remember taking it off.  He remembered trying to sleep in it last night, but the combined warmth of both the sweater and the scraggly cat snuggled against his side was too much.  He remembered taking off the cardigan and tossing it to the foot of his bed, then waking up the next morning and putting it back on over his pajamas.  After that, he remembered nothing.  He couldn’t even remember coming into Doc’s office, but he must’ve found his way there, because he was very clearly staring up at that familiar ceiling.

He could feel a bedsheet covering his legs.That was sort of a good thing, he guessed—he still had feeling in both his legs, then.And by reasonable deduction, that also meant that Doc didn’t cut off his left leg entirely, the possibility of which Scout had been extremely afraid of.He wanted to crane his head up and look, but he couldn’t move.Well, that was kind of a lie.He could twitch his fingers a little and succeeded in moving his neck a fraction of an inch.Not paralyzed, then, either.Good stuff. 

Tired of staring at the ceiling, Scout closed his eyes.When he opened them again, he felt a hell of a lot better.

Uh, sort of.He was much more aware of the pain in his leg now, but at least he wasn’t so damn woozy.He blinked a few times to clear the sleepy sting from his eyes, then flopped his head over.

Just as he had suspected (and hoped), Sniper was sitting in a chair at his bedside, staring down at a book held open in his lap.

“Whatcha readin’?” Scout said, his voice weak and croaky.He didn’t sound so hot, huh?He’d kill for a drink of something right now.Maybe he could bat his eyelashes and ask Sniper to go get him something.

Head snapping to attention, Sniper slapped his book shut and scooted his chair closer to the bed.He opened his mouth to say something, but then he stood up instead.

“I’ve got t’tell Doc you’re awake,” he explained, holding his book awkwardly in his hand.“I’ll be back.”

“Hey,” Scout said, just as Sniper was turning on his boot heel to leave.

Sniper froze in his tracks and turned around.“Yeah?”

“Give ya a dollar if you’ll bring me sum’n to drink,” Scout said, attempting a smile.But he was becoming more and more aware of the pain in his leg as the seconds ticked by.It was hard to get his face to do much of anything except contort in discomfort.

Sniper nodded at him, and it was then that Scout realized the man wasn’t wearing his trademark slouch hat.  Instead, Scout stared at a thick head of brown hair that Sniper had tried to tame by smoothing pomade over it and combing it back.  A few tufts of hair sprang forth from the waxy styling product, curling over his forehead in a way that was managed to be both dorky-looking and cute at the same time.

Cute…Scout couldn’t believe he even _thought_ about the word “cute” to describe Sniper.Sniper wasn’t cute, he was…okay.At certain angles, maybe cute would be appropriate.Anyway, Snipes couldn't hear Scout’s inner monologue, so it was all good.

Scout could think Sniper was cute if he damn well wanted to.

“Okay,” Sniper said.“I’ll be back.”

Scout watched the swinging door flap to a close in Sniper’s wake, all the while fighting to keep his eyes open.He could go for another nap, but Sniper’d just headed out the door to tell Doc he was awake.He better try and stay that way, then.

He wanted to sit up, but when he tried to lift himself into a sitting position, the muscles in his back trembled and gave out.Apparently he couldn’t do that much yet; flopping his head from one side to the other seemed to be the extent of his abilities right now.Wait.No, he could lift up his left hand.His right one, he could wiggle his fingers, but that was it. 

He was so thirsty.He hoped Sniper remembered the whole bringing him a drink thing.

Medic came through the door, Sniper in tow.In Sniper’s hand was a large plastic mug with a lid on it, a bendy-straw sticking from the lid’s mouth.Sniper walked to Scout’s left side, Medic to his right.At first Scout didn’t know who to look at, but he decided to look at the guy with the drink.

“Here, let’s get you elevated, ja?” Medic said, detaching a little remote from the side of the hospital bed and holding down one of its buttons.The head of Scout’s bed began to rise at an angle, adjusting him into a much more comfortable sitting position.“I’ll put this right here, and you can fix it however you’d like it.”Medic put the remote atop the bed within Scout’s reach.

“’S that for me?” Scout said, raising his left hand to gesture at the plastic mug in Sniper’s grasp.He tried to extend his index finger in a pointing motion, but he didn’t do a very good job.

“Yeah,” Sniper said.Instead of handing the mug over, he guided the straw to Scout’s mouth.

“I think I know how to hold a cup, Snipes,” Scout gurgled, his half-lidded eyes struggling to meet Sniper’s.  “Nah, I’m just kiddin’, I”—he paused long enough to put the straw in his mouth—“I feel frickin’ fruit-loopy, man, I”—he took a deep pull from the straw—“hmmh, I don’t think I can hold that thing if ya wanna know the truth, my hands ain’t workin’ right.  ’S that _water_ in there?”  He felt so strange, he was having trouble identifying the liquid.  He was pretty sure it wasn’t carbonated, at the least.  He pulled the straw from his mouth and stared intently at it, like that might give him the answer he was looking for.

“Yeah, it’s water,” Sniper answered.“Doc said he wanted you to drink some.”

Scout groaned dramatically.“I want a root beer float real bad right now,” he whined.

Sniper laughed a little bit under his breath.“Root beer float, eh?”

“And I don’t even like root beer, root beer’s frickin’ _gross_ , man, but I want one _so bad_.”

Medic let loose one of his chilling cackles, though the sound of it was softened by what sounded like a hand covering his mouth.“Unusual cravings are quite normal after such an extensive surgery, liebchen, it will pass.”

Scout hated to take his eyes off Sniper—he didn’t know why—but he wanted to ask Doc a question, so he had to.He turned his head over and said, “oh yeah, how’d that whole surgery thing go, by the way?”

Medic’s back straightened.“I will not lie to you, Scout, it was much more difficult than I had imagined.But as you can see, I—oh, well I suppose you _can’t_ see.Here.”

Medic grabbed the edge of the bedsheet and pulled it away from Scout’s lower half.Looking down, Scout discovered that his entire left leg was heavily taped and bandaged, and it was also strapped into some sort of weird metal brace from ankle to upper thigh.He tried to move it, but all he could do was wiggle his pinkie toe. 

“Anyway,” Medic continued, “as you can see, I was able to save the leg after all.”

“Y’mean I nearly lost it, or sum’n?” Scout asked.His voice was unusually calm for such a question, and even he himself could realize that.He was sure after the loopy juice wore off, he’d care a whole hell of a lot more about his leg nearly having to be amputated.

“Your body rejected the first titanium rod I inserted,” Medic chirped, like he was remarking on a nice sip of wine he’d just sampled.“So I had to call Engineer in to help me think of another solution.  We decided to make another rod, this time using one made of a titanium-gold alloy.  That one took quite nicely.”

“So here’s the hundred-thousand dollar question,” Scout said, blinking slowly.“Am I, uh,ever gonna be able to _walk_ on it again, or is it just for decoration now?”

“Eh…” Medic said, averting his eyes.

As hard as he could (which was not very hard), Scout slammed his head into his pillow. This was probably yet another of those thing’s he’d care a lot more about when the anesthesia wore off.“Goddammit,” he groaned.

“It’s just that there will be quite a bit more scar tissue, and—and possible nerve damage than I initially anticipated,” Medic said.  “We won’t be certain about the extent of the damage until the brace comes off and you complete enough physical therapy to regain some muscle mass there.”

“How long till the brace comes off?” Scout asked.

“Depends on several factors, but I’d say at least a month.”

“Ya kiddin’ me,” Scout huffed, his eyelids close to drifting completely shut.Well _that_ sucked.A whole month with this iron maiden thing clamped to his leg was gonna be rough.It was bad enough he had to stay in the hospital for a million years, but now he had to do it with _this_ stupid thing bolted to him. 

But apparently he had gold in his body now.That was pretty cool.If he ever died for real, they could take his femur out and sell it and pay for his funeral with it.Neato.

He heard himself snoring, and that’s how he realized he’d fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for:  
> -somewhat graphic depiction of a surgical procedure (I don't go into a whole lot of detail, though)  
> -brief needle mention  
> -and I don't know if this would really be considered a "trigger," but there's some very blatant Heavy/Medic at the start of this chapter. But if you're not a fan of that pairing, don't worry. I doubt they'll show up together much in this story.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I AM SO SORRY for Medic's dialogue. I know it's a hassle to read, but I started writing it that way early on, and I decided I guess I better KEEP writing it like I had been. I know it's grating, but it'd be hard to go back and edit all the chapters I've already written, so I guess i'll just keep on with it....whoops.
> 
> For this story, I'm going to have to write in two original characters to help steer the plot along. I know a lot of folks don't like that, so I'm throwing it out there right now. Matter of fact, one of them will most likely be making an appearance in the next chapter. Now, original characters tend to be disliked for a number of reasons, the most popular ones being a) they're a Mary Sue, b) their personalities were tailor-made to woo the main character, and c) their style of dress/mannerisms/general disposition don't fit properly within the story. I'm going to try and steer clear of that and make them as least annoying as possible.
> 
> And did you know they're trying to make a titanium-gold alloy for human implants a real thing? I actually didn't make that up. For whatever reason, this alloy is accepted by the body a lot better than plain titanium implants, and its also four times stronger. The more you know!!
> 
> **EDIT:** I went back through all the chapters and fixed the way Medic's dialogue is read. Instead of replacing t's with z's and v's with w's and so on and so on, I've made it a lot more legible.


	11. Chapter 11

Sniper stood in front of the the sink, staring at his sleepy-eyed reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth.A couple things Doc said to him last night still resonated within his mind, unnerving him. 

Scout—poor little gremlin—kept drifting in and out of consciousness, and every time he came to, he asked Sniper the same questions.Was it still Sunday night?Yes, it was still Sunday.Could he have something to drink?Yes, but only water for now, Doc’s orders.He was hurting, couldn’t Doc give him something for the pain, just a _little_ something?Yes, and he already had; it just wasn’t very strong.

The falling asleep, waking up, and asking the same things he’d just asked routine had gone on until nearly eleven that night.After that, Scout seemed to have fallen into a deeper, more stable sort of sleep.Scout had been snoozing soundly for about an hour when Medic eased his way into the room, patting Sniper on the shoulder.Sniper marked his place in his book with a finger and looked up at the man.

“I know you don’t want to leave him,” Medic said.“I can tell how much he means to you.But I’ve slipped him a little something—non-narcotic, I assure you—to help him sleep through the night.I’ll check on him periodically, but he should be fine.Why don’t you go and get some rest yourself, Herr Sniper?”

Sniper knew he wouldn’t be worth killing (ha, ha) tomorrow if he didn’t get some shuteye.And if Scout was set to sleep through the night, anyhow, maybe it really would be alright to go on back to the Winnie.

Sniper stood up to leave, but he thought of something.“Who’s gonna watch him when we’re all off to work tomorrow, then?” Sniper asked.Surely Doc wasn’t planning on leaving Scout alone, was he?

“There’s a nurse coming in to take care of him.”

Sniper spat the toothpaste into the sink, rinsed off his brush, and put it back in the medicine cabinet.The first thing he didn’t care for was the whole _I can tell how much he means to you_ bit.That was an odd thing to say to someone, wasn’t it?Sure, Sniper supposed he…he might…

Well, he’d already come to terms with the fact that he was keen on Scout, hadn’t he?It was hard for him to admit, even to his own self, but he supposed he quite liked the little bugger; and anyway, it wasn’t like he could flip a switch in his brain and turn his feelings on and off (though he’d love to have that luxury).He’d just have to get used to the fact that he liked who he liked. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted _others_ to know how he felt about the other man just yet.Perhaps he never wanted anyone else to figure it out.The times, they were a-changing, but there was a long way to go before a bloke and another bloke could walk down the street arm-in-arm, all touchy-feely and whatnot—that was just the simple truth of it.

He didn’t want his fellow mercs to know he fancied Scout, that was for sure.The last thing he needed was for the folks he worked with to treat him any different—and they undoubtedly would, if they knew.They may even begin to hate him.And word would get back to _Scout_ that Sniper fancied him, and…

Hold on.Sniper kept conveniently forgetting the fact that Scout had been the one to kiss _him_ just two nights ago.Sniper suspected Scout had done it on a whim, hadn’t really meant anything by it.He’d been wound up because of his impending surgery, he was probably lonesome for his mum and brothers, he had no one round to comfort him…Sniper was probably his only available outlet, and that’s why he’d kissed him.What other reason could there be, really—there was no way Scout could actually be interested in him.Sniper was nearly thirty-seven years old and he lived in a Winnebago.His hobbies included talking to animals, shooting a gun from really far away, pissing in jars, knife-sharpening, reading, UFO-hunting, and knitting. 

Bloody weird _,_ is what he was.He didn’t _want_ Scout to like him back; it just wouldn’t be fair. 

Scout could easily do better.  Scout was skilled at his job, an excellent artist, always had loads of entertaining stories to tell, had good taste in music, just…just good company in general.  Nice smile.  Very considerate, and very patient when he wanted to be…anybody’d be lucky to have him. 

Still, Doc had said something else that gave Sniper a tinge of worry: _there’s a nurse coming in to take care of him._

There was something about that, something Sniper didn’t like.Something that didn’t sit well with him.Some mysterious nurse coming in, looking after Scout…it would be different if Doc was seeing to him, but this new person could be anyone.Come to think of it, Sniper had read loads of books where the nurse and the patient fell madly in love with one another…

_Now, you just told yourself you wanted Scout to find someone better than you.Maybe this new nurse’ll be good for him, who knows.They’re gonna be spending a lot of time together, after all—maybe they’ll get on, maybe that’ll be a good thing, maybe…_

_…Wait, what’ve I done here, something ain’t right._

Sniper had been conjuring the mental image of a nondescript nurselike figure doting all over Scout and trying to button up his own shirt at the same time.In his distracted state, he’d missed a button-hole up near the top, and all his buttons were one hole off.Muttering under his breath, he unbuttoned his shirt and tried again.

_Better get your head on straight before you leave for work, mate._

_Yeah.I know._

Though he’d just brushed his teeth, he deemed it necessary to pour himself another cup of coffee.Maybe that would help.He sat down with his mug at the booth-and-table and his eyes invariably drifted up to the painting of Hoots.

He’d hung up Scout’s painting just above the table; every time he sat down for a meal or a drink of coffee, the owl stared down at him with those jarring red eyes.Where had Scout learned to paint like that?Sniper knew he liked to draw, but he’d never seen nor asked to see any of the man’s drawings (he reckoned they were private, so he didn’t press the matter).This was the first of Scout’s work he’d ever laid eyes on.That counselor of his, the one that made Scout draw every day back when he was still in school…had she been the one to teach him?Or he may be self-taught.

In any case, Scout’s skill with a paintbrush was phenomenal.He’d said he “wasn’t that good” at painting, which was rubbish—said he liked working on paper better, though.Sniper was itching to see his drawing pad now, see what kinds of things were in there. 

He was also itching to know what this nurse person was going to be like.

_Well it ain’t like you can do anything about it_ , he told himself as he took an irritable sip of his coffee. _Be best if you’d stop thinking about it._

_Yeah.I know._

_You can still be his friend, even if he doesn’t…even if he isn’t…_

_Yeah.I know._

_If he likes this new nurse gal—bloke—whoever—best to just let him.Probably be better than liking you, anyhow._

_Yeah.I know._

Despite his attempts to shove these thoughts to the back of his mind (a skill he used to be quite good at, but couldn’t manage to do very well as of late), he still went to work feeling sour, stepping onto the teleporter with his shoulders drooping and his head hanging low.As he scuttled off to find a good hiding spot for the day, he found himself already eager for the workday to be over, so he could do a bit of investigating on this new nurse fellow—or lady, or whoever.

That was another first for him.He liked his job, liked spending time on the field.It had its drawbacks, for sure, but he enjoyed it all the same.And now he was chomping at the bit to head back to base.

It was like Scout was re-wiring his brain, or something, making him…he didn’t know how to explain it.He figured at nearly forty, his life was pretty much on cruise control, and there’d be nothing in him to change.He was who he was, and that was that.He’d die that way.

But no.Someone had to come and catch his eye, and now he was being an idiot.

He wedged himself amidst a stack of old wooden crates, mostly out of sight from enemy eyes (or so he hoped).He raised the scope of his rifle to his eye, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of blue uniform, but it was increasingly hard to concentrate; his thoughts always wandered back to a certain someone.

This was miserable.And to think there were people out there who _wanted_ to feel this way for other people.

Actually, Sniper was beginning to think he _was_ one of those people.

Had he not been trying to keep hidden, he would’ve sighed.This was going to be a long bloody day, he could already tell.

 

****

 

Now that the anesthesia wore off, Scout was, as Hardhat was so fond of saying, fit to be tied.His leg didn’t even feel like a leg anymore, it felt like a swollen, aching, throbbing protuberance—something that had no business being connected to his own body, something foreign.He knew he couldn’t have anything major like Codeine, but shit, he’d have a hard time refusing one right now.He thought his leg hurt bad the first time he broke it all those years ago, but that had been nothing.This pain right here, this was something else.His frickin’ _teeth_ chattered, it hurt so bad.

The door swished open and Scout got ready to give Doc an earful, tell him to go get him some aspirin, at least.But in walked not Medic, but Miss Pauling, followed by someone Scout had never seen before.

The person trailing behind Miss Pauling was a full head taller than her, maybe even taller than Sniper.They had tawny-colored skin that looked oddly shiny in some places.Their hair was dark brown and nearly shoulder-length, and they wore it parted at a dramatic angle on the left side of their head.A set of red medical scrubs was the new person’s outfit of choice, which Scout thought was kinda weird.Weird, because that made them look an awful lot like a—

Oh.

_Oh_.

“Good morning, Scout,” Miss Pauling said, giving him a small smile.As always, she looked weary, but in a good enough mood nonetheless.

“Mornin’, Miss P,” Scout said carefully, picking his teeth with his tongue as he looked first to Miss Pauling, then to the mystery person, back to Miss Pauling. 

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’m hurtin’ pretty bad, but I figured I would be, y’know?Nuttin’ I can’t live through, though, I’m good.”Never one for subtlety, Scout barged right along with his next comment.“Hey, who’s the new guy?”

“Well, that’s exactly the reason I’m paying you a visit this morning,” Miss Pauling said.“As I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, Medic can’t be here to tend to you since he’s needed on the field.So the Administrator’s hired a temporary solution.”She gestured toward the person at her side.“Scout, I want you to meet Nurse.Nurse, that’s Scout, as…as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.”

Scout knew they used codenames here, but “Nurse” sounded a little dumb.Then again, he thought “Scout” sounded stupid when he’d first heard it, too, so maybe it’d sound better once he got better acquainted with this guy.Or lady.Or…huh.He couldn’t tell which one this Nurse person was supposed to be.

Nurse left Miss Pauling’s side and strode over to Scout, extending their hand towards him.The hand was narrow yet long-fingered, and upon taking the proffered hand in his, Scout found it to be lightly calloused at the palm.Nothing like, say, Sniper’s hand, but it was still rough.The handshake was neither firm nor floppy.(In other words, it could be a dude handshake or a lady handshake, Scout couldn’t tell which.)So to be on the safe side, Scout decided to steer clear of the sir/ma’am formalities.He hated using those, anyway, they sounded too uppity.

“Good t’meetcha, pally,” he said, doing his best to smile at his new acquaintance.“I’m Scout, like Miss P just toldja.I’m sure she’s toldja a lot more than that about me, though, huh?”

His offhanded attempt at humor was met with a slight nod and a barely-there, tight-lipped smile from Nurse.To say Scout was disappointed with that reaction would be an understatement.He’d been hoping to hear what their voice sounded like.

“Nurse will be taking care of you from nine AM to seven PM, weekends included,” Miss Pauling said.“Call for Medic if you need something after seven or before nine, but try not to give him too much trouble—the Administrator’s got him working on a lot, here lately.”At that, Miss Pauling’s face seemed to fall a little, like she knew all about the Administrator giving people a lot of work to handle.“I know it’s not an ideal fix, but you know how the Administrator is.We’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.”

Even though Scout had pretty much convinced himself he didn’t want to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after with Miss Pauling anymore, that didn’t mean he’d stopped caring about her.He tried his best to ignore the agonizing pain coursing through him and slapped on his best, toothiest smile.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss P,” he said.“I ain’t dyin’ over here, I don’t need somebody hoverin’ over me all hours of the day.I got this.”

She seemed relieved to hear him say that, her face relaxing slightly.“We’ll kind of play this by ear, okay?If it turns out you need more help during the evening, maybe I can figure something out.”

“I’ll be awright,” Scout assured her, but he didn’t think she heard him.She glanced down at her watch and huffed.

“I’m running late, so we’ll have to cut this introduction short,” Miss Pauling said.“Nurse, I’ll leave you to it.I gave you my desk number, right?”

Still standing at Scout’s bedside, hands clasped primly in front of them, Nurse nodded in response.

“Good,” Miss Pauling said.“Feel better, Scout.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as Miss Pauling left the room, Scout started babbling.

“‘Kay, so first of all, I just woke up and I gotta piss, like, _now_ ,” he said.“I dunno how ya wanna do this, like…like the last time my leg was all screwy, I had a big long brace like this, too, and I could get around real good on a pair of crutches.I think I got enough of my strength back to hobble on into the bathroom if you’ll—“

But he stopped speaking when Nurse unclasped their hands and held up a finger, effectively shushing him.They turned and left Scout’s bedside, exited the room through the swinging door, and came back seconds later pushing a wheelchair.They brought it over to Scout’s bedside and adjusted the left footrest, elevating it to support his injured leg. 

When Nurse held their hands out and reached for Scout, Scout recoiled, laughing nervously.“Nah, for real, you ain’t gotta go through all that trouble, uh—“

Nurse said nothing in response, instead clamping their left arm around the small of his back.  They were uncomfortably close as they hoisted Scout up with their left arm, guiding Scout’s bum leg with their right, easing him into the awaiting wheelchair.

“You’re stronger than ya look, ya know that?” Scout said, impressed.He hated feeling this helpless, but he had to give credit where credit was due.All he got in response was a nod (albeit a curt one).

Nurse wheeled him into the bathroom and made to grab him again, but Scout recoiled again.

“Nah, nahnahnah, I ‘ppreciate it and all, but I’m gonna do _this_ part myself, I got this.”He grinned up at Nurse, whose narrow-eyed stare was deceived by the smile ghosting their lips.“They had to special order me a pair a crutches way back when, so I was in a wheelchair for nearly two weeks while I waited on ‘em.I’m like an expert on how to climb outta these things, I swear.”

Though they hesitated, Nurse eventually decided to give Scout some privacy.He climbed out of the chair, pissed, climbed back in, and even washed his hands before he joined Nurse back in his hospital room.

“So you don’t talk much, huh?” Scout said as he accepted Nurse’s help back into the bed.He’d admit, he might not be able to get back _in_ the bed without a little hand up—the brace on his leg wasn’t exactly what you’d call lightweight.When Nurse said nothing in response, Scout continued.“I’m gonna be drivin’ you crazy, then.I’m a chatterbox, I’ll just tell ya that right now.Hardhat says I’d talk the paint off a fencepost.Hey, you met any a the other guys yet?”

Nurse nodded.

“Well, I’d ask ya who, but I got a funny feelin’ ya wouldn’t tell me,” Scout said, giving Nurse a nudge with his elbow.  “Yknow what, pally?  You ain’t gotta say nuttin’ if ya don’t wanna, that’s cool with me.  I got a buddy, Pyro—you’ll know him when you see him, he’s the one in the gas mask—“

When he said that, Nurse nodded with more force and flashed him a thumbs-up.At the mention of Pyro, they looked perturbed.

“You’ve seen him already, I take it,” Scout said, to which Nurse replied by giving him another nod.“Well he wears that gas mask all day, and he _won’t_ take it off.He’s got reasons, and that’s cool, but it’s pretty frickin’ hard to understand what he says.You gotta listen real close.Talks with his hands a lot and does a lot a noddin’ and shakin’ his head, too.What I’m gettin’ at, pally, is I’m real good with body language.So y’know what, if you don’t wanna talk, you ain’t gotta.It’s cool.”

Nurse gave Scout what he interpreted to be an appreciative pat on the arm before turning away from the bedside.They went over to the far side of the room, opened a refrigerator Scout hadn’t even noticed was there, and started digging through it.

“But that don’t mean I ain’t gonna talk to _you_ , though,” Scout went on.“I’m gonna get real lonely if I don’t talk to somebody, so I’m just gonna apologize for gettin’ on ya nerves right now.But I got a…a friend that might be comin’ to see me after he gets off work today, so maybe at like, six-ish this afternoon, you’ll get a break from my ass, heh.”

_Man, I hope Snipes really does come by_ , Scout thought, already bored from the lack of anything to do.He’d have to ask Sniper to bring some comics or his art stuff or _some_ thing in here.Hell, he’d read a _book_ book right now.

A moment later, Nurse rolled a little table over to him, one that extended over his bedside and nestled over his lap.On it was a cup of clear liquid (probably water), a jiggling square of red gelatin, and a plastic spoon.

_Breakfast of champions,_ he thought, his nose curling as he took a bite of the mostly flavorless cube.

 

****

 

But talking to someone who didn’t talk back lost its novelty after awhile.

Apparently, Nurse had sensed that Scout was bored when he started jostling his good leg to the point where his bed inched across the floor.Or maybe they sensed it when Scout would throw his pillow up in the air, bang it against the ceiling tile, and catch it over and over again.Or maybe they sensed it when he started singing the first songs that popped into his head in a grating falsetto.

He was halfway through “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” when Nurse wheeled the little table in front of him again, this time with a book of crossword puzzles and a pencil atop it.Scout couldn’t remember a time he’d _done_ a crossword puzzle, but hey, he’d take it.

But instead of filling in the actual crossword, he ended up doodling in the blank spaces around the puzzle.  He started out drawing your standard doodle shit—lightning bolts, stars, the transparent cube thing—but his hand had a mind of its own.  Before he knew it, he was drawing a three-quarter view bust of Sniper without his hat.  He’d drawn Sniper way— _way_ —more times than he’d care to admit, but never without his slouch hat on.  He didn’t remember a whole hell of a lot from last night, but he did remember seeing Sniper without his hat.  The way his thick, unruly hair broke free of the pomade that tried so hard to tame it, curling over his forehead, was ingrained in Scout’s memory. 

Speaking of, there was something _else_ about Sniper that was ingrained in his memory, too.

Scout hadn’t planned on it, not at all, but he’d done it.He—he _kissed_ Sniper.That didn’t sound right, not even in his own mind.He still didn’t know what had come over him two nights ago, when they’d been up on top of Sniper’s camper.

It was just…Sniper had opened up to him so much.That had been hard for Sniper to do, Scout could tell; his hands had shaken when he demonstrated how to use the telescope and he stammered when he explained how to find the different constellations.As he watched Scout use the telescope, Scout could hear him fidgeting with something against the roof of the Winnie, something that kept going _plink-plink-plink_. 

And then they’d gotten to talking about aliens, and then Sniper had said the thing about Earth being only one of a hundred billion planets in the Milky Way galaxy, and Scout could put his eye up to the telescope and see a whole other galaxy up there…who knew how many planets were in _that_ galaxy, too.Sniper had said that out of billions of planets, he didn’t believe Earth was the only one with life on it.He’d also said that looking at the stars made him feel small.

It made Scout feel small, too.He was just one person out of billions of Earthlings, living on one planet out of billions of other planets, floating in a galaxy out of billions of other galaxies.Some little green dude on some faraway planet was probably looking at _him_ through a telescope right then, too.

Compared to all that, kissing Sniper had seemed like the only logical thing to do.

But everybody’s got twenty-twenty hindsight, don’t they?The kiss had been nice—better than nice—but maybe he shouldn’t have done it.He didn’t stop to think how the other man might feel about it, now, did he?

No, he hadn’t.He felt like an asshole about it, too.Sniper wasn’t one for bodily contact, and then Scout went and slobbered all over him like that.Then again, Sniper _did_ kiss him back, and when Scout had broken down and collapsed into the man’s arms, Sniper hadn’t shrugged him off, or anything…

But in that same vein, Sniper was very particular about being polite.Maybe he was just doing what he thought was the proper thing.

And Snipes aside, what would Ma say about her youngest son, her baby, over here kissing _dudes_?  Scout didn’t think she’d disown him, really, but she’d probably think about it for awhile.  No doubt she’d be disappointed in him.  Probably wouldn’t talk to him for a few weeks…months… _years_ …

She’d never look at Scout the same way again.There’d always be a glint of disapproval in her eye and she’d blame herself for raising a broken son.Well, an even _more_ broken son—it was pretty obvious by now that he was the class-A fuckup of her litter of kids.

(And even within his own mind, he felt guilty about thinking the word _fuck;_ Ma would fly off the handle if anybody said that word around her.It was the one word you better not even think about saying under her roof.)

Anthony, Randy, Vinny—his three oldest brothers—were already working on a small herd of grandchildren for Ma to enjoy.He talked to Tommy, Freddy, and Danny on the phone last week, and they all still had their girlfriends.In fact, Tommy was thinking about asking Tiff to marry him.Stanley, he couldn’t get ahold of, but that was pretty normal; Stanley liked to drift from town to town on his motorcycle and, if his wild tales were to be believed, he had lots and lots of sex with lots and lots of ladies. 

If you did the math, Ma was bound to have _one_ gay son out of eight, wasn’t she?

… _Was_ he gay?Maybe?

He wanted to deny it, of course.  He always thought he’d be the kind of guy to have two-point-five kids and a smokin’ hot wife and a house with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard.  But there were several indelible facts, here.  Facts he couldn’t shove to the back of his mind anymore.

One:Back in high school, he had had a very real crush on one of his baseball teammates.That same teammate had kissed him the night they figured out they’d made it into the finals.Scout hadn’t slept a wink that night, he remembered that part very clearly.He remembered lying in bed and reaching up to touch his lips, not quite believing it had actually happened.And then that next day, when Bucky dropped that huge metaphorical bomb on him (he’d had physical bombs dropped on him that had hurt less, Scout mused), his heart had broken.He knew he wouldn’t have hurt that bad if he hadn’t been in love.There was no way.

Two:He’d had tons of girlfriends in the past, but none of them had lasted very long.Matter of fact, the longest he’d ever dated a girl was Amy Kitzner, back in 11th grade.It had lasted a whole entire month.Either he wasn’t good at relationships, or he wasn’t good at liking girls.He might be able to get a stiffy over a girl in a magazine, but girls on paper and girls in the flesh were two totally different things.

Three:Ever since he’d gotten on good terms with Sniper, they were growing closer at an alarming rate.Every spare moment they had was spent together.And when they weren’t together…Scout frickin’ missed him.Actually _missed_ him.

Four:It had partly been on a whim, but that didn’t change the fact that Scout had kissed Sniper the other night.He had made a conscious decision to do it, and he’d done it.And y’know what?It felt good.Felt right.And he’d been thankful it was dark out, because otherwise, he’d have had to shuffle around to try and hide the huge boner tenting his jeans.(Yet another telltale sign he was probably…y’know…right there.)

Though a small part of him wanted to just sweep the whole kissing Sniper incident under the rug, he knew he needed to bring it up.It was gonna be weird, but he and Snipes needed to talk about it.Otherwise, something like this would redden and fester until it burst.It needed to be dealt with sooner rather than later, so Scout vowed to bring it up the next time they were alone together.

He penciled in a little heart right next to the bust of Sniper he had drawn on the crossword puzzle.Looked at that little heart for a moment.Erased it.

He let the pencil roll into the spine of the crossword puzzle book, putting it aside for now.Then he lie his head back on his pillow and groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess what I did? I went back through all the chapters and tweaked Medic's dialogue, and zat's vhy he's not talking like zis anymore! It vas getting hard for even me to read, so I didn't vant to type it like zat anymore.
> 
> Last chapter I mentioned I would have to add in some original characters for the story to move along. The Nurse was one of the characters I was talking about. SOMEbody had to take care of Scout. Medic's at work, so he can't do it. Same goes for Sniper. Miss Pauling...? No, the Administrator's got her doing about five thousand jobs at once, so she can't do it. So (shrug) I had to make up a character. Every time I hear "original character" I think of Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way, and it makes me want to shy away from using them. I don't think the Nurse character I made up is nearly so bad as Enoby, though.
> 
> Anyway, Sneep and Scoot will actually interact in the next chapter, I promise!


	12. Chapter 12

_Should I knock?_

Like some kind of creep, Sniper lingered outside the door to Scout’s hospital room.He should knock, shouldn’t he?Scout could be naked in there or something, might appreciate a bit of forewarning.But what if—what if that new _nurse_ opened the door?He didn’t know what they looked like, didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know how to present himself.What would he say?What if they wouldn’t let him in?

Well.Couldn’t stand there and stare at the door forever, could he?He curled his hand into a fist and rapped on it with his knuckles.

From inside the room, he could hear a voice that undoubtedly belonged to Scout, but the thickness of the door prevented Sniper from making out any of the words.Seconds later the door opened, revealing a tall person (nearly as tall as he was, Sniper noted) with longish, dark brown hair and beige-colored skin.They were clad in a set of red medical scrubs and their face conveyed an air of complete and total indifference. 

Sniper had never seen this bloke—gal— _person_ before.It was only logical, then, that he must be face-to-face with the new nurse. Sniper felt his body tensing, starting at his chest and radiating outwards.He’d been afraid of this.He didn’t know what to do in this situation, not at all.

Before he could think much more about it, however, the supposed nurse opened the door a bit wider and stepped aside, ushering Sniper inside with a wave of their hand.Should—should he say thank you, or—

“Snipes!” Scout yelled, jolting up to a full sitting position in his hospital bed.“Snipes, thank God, I’m goin’ _nuts_ over here.I need somebody to talk to.”Scout adjusted his gaze to look at the nurse.“No offense, pally.”

The nurse shucked up a shoulder, not seeming to care either way.Without uttering a single word, they walked through a set of swinging doors that Sniper was fairly sure led into Doc’s examination room, giving the two of them some privacy.

He took a seat at Scout’s bedside and he began to feel like he probably shouldn’t’ve shown up empty-handed.He thought about at least bringing a book along, in case Scout was asleep, but he hadn't even brought that.Didn’t most hospital rooms at least have a telly?Sniper looked around the room to see if he could spot one.No telly, but there _was_ a fridge, which Sniper thought was strange.

Just when he was about to comment on the new person who’d just left the room, Scout started talking.

“Hey, so I’ve had all day to be thinkin’ about somethin’,” Scout said, steepling his hands and drumming his fingertips against one another.He looked nervous.That only served to make Sniper nervous, which, admittedly, wasn’t all that hard to do.“And I know it’s weird to just jump on into this, but I think it’s kinda like rippin’ off a bandaid, y’know?”

Sniper didn’t know.He was pretty confused at that point.Luckily, Scout only allowed a beat of silence before he continued.

“I think me and you better talk about the other night,” Scout said, staring at Sniper so intently that it was physically painful for Sniper to maintain eye contact with him.“Y’know—the other night?When ya showed me how to use the telescope?And, uh…”Scout’s face reddened.“…and the other thing?When I…well, when _we_ …”

Scout took both hands and rubbed fitfully at his face.Somehow, that resulted in it becoming even redder, which Sniper didn’t think to be possible at that point.“Geez, I’m sorry, Snipes. I had this all planned out, how I was gonna frickin’ say this, and I guess I forgot it all.” 

It was obvious what Scout was trying to say.He wanted to talk about the kiss they’d shared two nights ago.In contrast to Scout, Sniper felt his cheeks grow _cold,_ all the color undoubtedly draining from them.He knew they’d have to discuss it eventually, but he didn’t think it would be this soon.He still hadn’t quite worked out how he felt about it with any amount of certainty.And by the look and sound of things, neither had Scout.

“’S alright,” Sniper told him, his voice falling into something only slightly louder than a mumble.“I know what you’re tryin’ to say, yeah.The other night, when”—he swallowed, trying to force enough saliva to his tongue to be able to utter the rest—“when you kissed me.”

He couldn’t believe he’d just said that.Aloud.In front of Scout.How his mind and body worked in tandem to make those words come out of his mouth, he’d never know.It was a bloody miracle he hadn’t passed out cold from fright.And Scout’s startled (awed?) facial expression wasn’t helping matters.Sniper fought the urge to pull them brim of his hat over his eyes to shield them from the other man’s peculiar gaze.

“Yeah,” Scout agreed, drawing the word out for a good three seconds.“Look, I know it’s weird and stuff, but we were gonna have to talk about it eventually.So I just figured sooner’d be better than later, don’tcha think?”Sniper was not allotted time to answer that before Scout went on.“‘Cause I’ve had all day long to be thinkin’ ‘bout a couple things, since there ain’t nuttin’ in here to do _but_ think, and I thought…maybe you’d be cool with talkin’ about it?”He looked at Sniper expectantly, offering a sheepish smile.

It went without saying that Sniper hated things like this.It was awkward, embarrassing, uncomfortable, draining.But Scout was right.This was a thing that average folks would talk about amongst one another, so they could sort it out together.He might be rubbish at talking, especially when it came to— _feelings_ , and whatnot—but it was necessary.And he knew this was something he’d have to trudge through.

“Yeah, we…yeah.Er.”He wanted to push his glasses up and rub at his eyes, but he didn’t want to be rude.“We should.Talk about.It.Yeah—yes.We oughter do that, so.Go on.I mean—!No, no, that came out wrong, I only meant we _should…_ discuss it.”God, he was an idiot.He wanted to go outside, dig a nice, deep hole, and bury himself in it.“Er, maybe you should…start us off, here, I’m not doing a very good job of it.”

Scout looked like he was biting back a smile.Sniper didn’t fault him for that; that little speech Sniper had just floundered through was an all-out disgrace. 

“I feel kinda bad, ‘cause basically I just threw myself atcha.Like I feel genuinely guilty about that, like…I shoulda warned ya it was comin’, at least, or sum’n.So I guess what my big mouth is tryna say, first of all, is…sorry.”

“Well, you _did_ lean in awful slow.I sawr it comin’, I knew what was about to happen.I had plenty o’ time to stop you if I didn’t”—he cleared his throat—“want you to.”

Scout’s eyes widened.“You, uh…”He looked down at his lap for a moment, then slid his eyes back up to meet Sniper’s.“You wanted me to, huh?”

There was no sarcastic undertone to Scout’s question; he sounded genuinely curious.Sniper could only stare into the frightening blue of Scout’s eyes for a few seconds before he had to look away. 

“Yeah,” he choked, his gaze falling on a plastic cup resting on the lap table pulled up to Scout’s bed, the outside of the glass sweaty with condensation.What he wouldn’t give for a drink of that right now.“Yeah, I—suppose I did.”

His voice had barely even been audible.He was surprised that Scout had heard him at all.He felt his hands tighten around the armrests of his chair, squeezing them till his knuckles turned white.He should’ve lied, he should’ve said something other than that, because now things would just become uncomfortable between the two of them, they wouldn’t be able to be mates anymore, they—

“That’s good, then,” Scout said, trying to reason out his thoughts as he said them aloud.“‘Cause _I_ obviously wanted to, if I was the one that started it, and if _you_ wanted me to, then, uh…that means it was, uh…”He waved his hand through the air, stirring his thoughts.“What’s that word when two people both want sum’n, like they both agree on it?”

“Mutual?”

“Mutual, yeah, mutual,” Scout nodded.“So when I…kissed ya, it was mutual.Right?”

Sniper didn’t quite know where Scout was going with this.Then again, he hadn’t known where any of this conversation was headed.“Reckon so,” he agreed.

“Okay,” Scout nodded, his brow furrowed.“Okay.So.I gotta ask ya sum’n, and ya don’t have to answer it if ya don’t wanna.‘Kay?”

Ah, piss.Sniper knew what he was gonna ask.“Okay.”

“Are you…are you, y’know…”He lowered his voice.“Are you gay, Snipes?”

Precisely what he thought Scout was going to ask him.He took a sharp intake of breath through his nostrils and released it slowly. 

“I dunno,” he said.“To be honest, I…up till I”—he cleared his throat again, _God_ his mouth was dry—“up till I met you, I didn’t think I was anything.Not into blokes, not into girls, not into anyone.I just thought I was one of them folks that was meant to be alone their whole life.”

Scout picked at a hangnail on his thumb.“I dunno what I am, either, man,” Scout muttered.“Y’know, part a me wants to kinda forget about the whole likin’ dudes thing.Be a shitload easier if I did, but…”A tiny smile crept to his lips as he met Sniper’s gaze.He was still a little sallow-skinned and dark-eyed from his surgery, but he was still quite handsome.Especially when he smiled like that.“I’m just gonna say it, Snipes, I…I really like you.Like, I _like_ like you.Or I think I do.I, uh…I dunno.‘Cause you’re my friend and stuff for sure, but…I mean, ya don’t wanna kiss ya friends on the mouth, know what I mean?”

Sniper could only gape at him.  He was aware that his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t do a thing about it.  He was temporarily numbed.  Perhaps he’d never heard the phrase “ _like_ like” before—there were loads of American slang he found he didn’t know—but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it meant.

At that moment, he was very glad he hadn’t taken the time to grab a bite of dinner before heading over, because he’d most certainly be heaving it straight back up.  As it was, he swallowed down a mouthful of bitter bile, eyes watering at the acrid taste.  He was not equipped with the social skills necessary to deal with this situation.  What should he say, what should he say, _what should he say?_

_Just be truthful._

For once, his inner monologue had something non-pessimistic to tell him.He listened hard for any further advice his own mind could conjure for him, but none came. 

He took a steadying breath. _To hell with it._

“I think…” he said, finally able to look Scout in the eye again.“I think I might…er.Well.Like you.Also.”

Sniper had died more times than he’d ever be able to count, and this current experience was more painful than any butterfly knife through the spine or bullet through his gullet.This was agony.

But then a wide, goofy smile spread across Scout’s face, and just looking at him gave Sniper the warm fuzzies.Maybe this wasn’t quite so bad as Sniper was letting on—couldn’t be, if it got Scout to grin like that.It made him want to lean up and smooch those dimpled cheeks all over.

He wouldn’t, but he wanted to.

“For real?” Scout said, his voice husky.He grabbed two fistfuls of his hospital blanket in what Sniper could only assume was eagerness.“I mean the other night, I kinda expected ya to punch me in the face for—for kissin’ ya.But I just thought, y’know, maybe ya didn’t pull me offa ya ‘cause ya didn’t wanna be rude or offend me or whatever.So—so you’re kinda feelin’ sum’n too, then, huh?With me and you?Maybe-kinda-sorta?”

Sniper opened his mouth, but all that came out was a series of gurgles.He felt his face flush in embarrassment.He cleared his throat for the third time and shifted in his chair before attempting to speak again.

“I…” he started, but he didn’t know where to go from that point.He tried again. 

“I think so,” Sniper said, scratching absently at his wrist.  “But to be perfectly truthful, I’ve…look, I’ve never had this happen to me before.”  The desire to pull his hat over his eyes was stronger than ever before.  He couldn’t believe he’d just said that, _why_ did he have to say _that_ of all things—

“You ain’t ever liked anybody before, Snipes?”

Scout’s voice was low and tender.Not accusatory.Not teasing.Not derogatory in any way.Just…soothing.

Sniper felt the muscles in his shoulders loosen a bit.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Well, ya ain’t gotta be embarrassed about it,” Scout said.“Everybody’s different, they like, they all do their own thing on their own time.Or that’s my opinion, anyway.My oldest brother, Anthony?He was twenty-four when he went on his first date.Ended up marryin’ the girl, too.And then y’got me, I had a ‘girlfriend’”—he surrounded the word with air quotes—“when I was in frickin’ kindergarten.So what, you’re…holy shit, I don’t even know how old you are.How old _are_ ya?”

Scout’s aimless babbling never ceased to put Sniper at ease.He was feeling quite a bit more comfortable now.Still a bit on-edge, of course, but when was he not?He made the spur-of-the-moment decision to have a bit of fun.

“Aren’t you supposed to take me on a date first before you can ask me how old I am?” Sniper said, quirking an eyebrow.

That seemed to light a mischievous fire behind Scout’s eyes.“Hey, how’m I supposed to take ya on a date with this tin can strapped to my leg?” he said, pulling the blanket away from his leg for emphasis.Even though it was heavily bandaged, Sniper could still tell it must be swollen to about twice its normal size.He felt more than a little sympathy towards the other man.

“How’s that feelin’, by the way?” Sniper asked him.

“Hurts like a lil bitch,” Scout said with an exaggerated smile.“Don’t worry about it, though.I’ve felt worse, believe me.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Scout fiddled with one of the latches on the leg brace, snapping and unsnapping it, before he let out a dramatic sigh.“Okay, Snipes.I _told_ myself I wouldn’t ask ya this, but I just gotta.I can’t take it anymore, I just gotta know.”

Oh, hell.What could he mean by tha—

“Don’t freak out, it ain’t about you, or nuttin’ like that,” Scout assured him.Scout was getting better and better at sensing his thoughts, Sniper noted.“It’s, uh…you haven’t happened to meet the guy that replaced me yet, have ya?Or seen him, or anything?”

“He’s a _temporary_ replacement,” Sniper reminded him, “and I haven’t seen him.Actually, I reckon he’s not here yet.Had to pop by Truckie’s dispenser for a tic, earlier this morning, and him ’n’ Spy were talkin’ about how neither o’ them’s seen the new bloke.And you know if Spy ain’t seen him, he ain’t here.”

“Check you out, Snipes!” Scout beamed, reaching down from the hospital bed and giving him one of those peculiar shoulder squeezes.“Gettin’ out there and socializin’ with everybody else!”

Sniper had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling; Scout’s grin was contagious.“Supposed I’ve learned a thing or two from you, yeah?” he said, allowing the corners of his mouth to twitch upward.He felt more than saw Scout’s studious gaze roving all over his face, which caused his cheeks to grow warm.

“Oh, what?I’m makin’ ya blush, huh?” Scout teased, flashing his buck teeth as he moved his hand from Sniper’s shoulder to tickle under his chin. 

“Quiddit, you,” Sniper said as he batted Scout’s hand away from him, but he could no longer keep the smile from possessing his lips.The tiniest smidgen of laughter huffed through his nostrils.

A silence spread between the two of them, but contrary to what Sniper would expect, it was a comfortable sort of silence. There were actually several things he’d like to talk to Scout about, but all those things could wait.It felt like he and Scout were wordlessly conversing with one another.

_Having a moment._

And Sniper didn’t want to break the spell by speaking.  It could wait. 

He was rather enjoying the view, anyhow, Sniper thought as he traced the sharp angles of Scout’s jawline with his eyes.He’d have about a million questions to ask himself when he got back to the confines of his Winnebago, but those annoying thoughts could wait their turn, as well. 

He’d worry about all that later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest and say I started writing the next chapter and scrapped it. The original character I wrote in for Scout's temporary replacement...I dunno. It felt like he was in the story too much. I don't really want an original character of mine to have that much sway in this story, so I'm not sure what I'm going to do about him. Still thinking about it.
> 
> Honestly? The temporary Scout was going to be Bucky, Scout's old baseball crush-friend-dude. It would add an interesting element to the story, but... _he's an original character_. I think that would turn a lot of people off. So I don't think I'm gonna go in that direction, but I'm gonna think of something good! I got this.


	13. Chapter 13

“How’d all your stuff get in here, mate?”

That was the first thing out of Sniper’s mouth as he walked into the hospital room.The minute Scout laid eyes on him, he felt a wild grin clawing at his lips, but he took a page from Sniper’s book and bit the insides of his cheeks.He didn’t wanna make an idiot out of himself quite so quickly.

The thing about it was, Sniper looked a little different than he usually did; he had tried to dress up without making it _look_ like he’d dressed up, but his little wardrobe tweaks did not go unnoticed by Scout’s discerning eye.

He still wore the same battered leather vest he always had on, but there was a crisp button-down shirt underneath it that looked nearly new.It was red, as was required of them even after working hours, but it featured a subtle argyle print that Scout would definitely remember if he’d ever seen Sniper wear it before.Scout couldn’t tell if the belt was the same one he usually wore or not, but the belt _buckle_ was different, for sure; it was silver with some kind of opaque red stone set into it.There was a neat little crease ironed into the front of his trousers and his boots were polished up and shining.Probably not enough of a wardrobe change to send up any red flags amongst their teammates, but Scout could definitely spot the differences.

Badly, Scout wanted to make a comment about it, but he thought better of it.Anything he said would just embarrass the other man, especially since he’d only just walked through the door.No, Scout might say something about it later, but he had just enough sense to know that now wasn’t the time.

Instead, he chose to answer the question Sniper actually asked him.“I had Pyro bring some stuff from my room yesterday.He swung by after you left and asked me if I wanted him to bring me anything, so y’know.Had him grab me a couple things.”

“A couple?” Sniper said, striding over to the portable turntable and stack of records atop a card table.“Looks like you’ve moved in.”

“I didn’t have him get _that_ much stuff,” Scout said.But then he looked around the room, at the boxes of comic books, the mishmash of drawing supplies scattered here and there, the art books stacked against the wall, the turntable and record collection Sniper was currently occupying himself with.Sniper may have had a point.

“Okay, maybe I did have him get a shitload of my junk,” Scout admitted.“But it’s just so frickin’ _boring_ in here, man.I can’t just do one thing for too long, y’know?My brain don’t work like that.I gotta have _variety_.”

Sniper looked over his shoulder at Scout, giving him the tiniest of smirks.“You, not bein’ able to focus on somethin’? Surely not.”

“Screw you,” Scout grinned.He was only joking, of course he was, but did Snipes know that?He told himself a hundred times last night that he was gonna watch what he said from now on.Y’know.Try not to say anything dumb.This thing with Sniper—he didn't even know what to call it—was just starting, and he didn’t want to do anything stupid to mess it up. 

Thankfully, Sniper didn't seem to mind Scout’s snarky retort.He turned around to face Scout with an album in his hands, one that Scout had honestly forgotten all about having.

On its cover, three gents in matching pale blue suits stood around a woman in a pale blue schoolmarm’s dress.The three men had the luxury of wearing fairly modern fashion, but the woman’s high-necked, ruffled ensemble was unfortunate to say the least.Above their heads in ornate white lettering were the words, “The Best of The Seekers.”

He’d actually bought it by accident—checked the wrong box on the record catalogue’s order form—but he’d listened to it a couple times, anyway.  The Seekers weren’t horrible, they were kinda folksy-sounding, but Scout definitely wasn’t wearing the grooves out on the thing.

“Could we listen to this?” Sniper asked.“It’s silly, but…I’d like to hear it again.If that’s alright wiv you.”

Something about Sniper’s words really yanked at Scout’s heartstrings.Such an innocent request, to listen to a goofy folk album, but the way he had asked was so somber.Scout could only wonder what that meant.

“Yeah, sure-sure, put it on,” Scout told him, giving him an enthusiastic nod.While Sniper fiddled with the turntable, Scout tried to quietly scoot to the opposite side of the hospital bed, which was much easier said than done on account of the iron maiden ensnaring his entire left leg. 

After some skillful maneuvering and a lot of eye-watering pain, he got himself situated.He’d been thinking about this very scenario all last night, and had secretly hoped the addition of the turntable in the room would entice Sniper to turn his back for just a couple seconds.That way, Scout could move over to the other side of the bed, all smooth-like…and when Sniper turned around, he could casually ask him to take a seat on the edge of the bed instead of the straight-backed chair the man usually sat in.

Sniper probably wouldn’t go for it.It was awfully suggestive, Scout realized that.Two grown-ass men sitting on a bed together, where oh where could that lead?But _that_ honestly wasn’t what Scout had in mind.

Truth be told, Scout was starved for attention to the point of raw desperation, and he’d love nothing more than for someone to hold him for a few minutes.

(But he’d never admit that out loud.He barely admitted it in his own mind.)

The tinny notes of an acoustic guitar swelled into the room through the turntable speaker.Sniper took another lingering look at the album cover in his hands, then sat it back down atop the other albums on the table.He turned around.

His eyes first went to the now-vacant side of the bed nearest him, then drifted over to the chair he usually sat in, then came back to the edge of the bed.When he finally met Scout’s eyes with his own, he seemed to be silently saying, _what should I do, here?_

Scout’s breath hitched.He was about to get cocky again, but he stopped himself.The look on Sniper’s face indicated that now definitely wasn’t a good time for that.

“Sit,” Scout said, patting the empty strip of mattress beside him.

With the caution and nervousness of a wild animal in unfamiliar territory, Sniper took halting steps to the bedside, then perched himself on the edge.He let out a long sigh, and as he did, his entire body seemed to deflate; his shoulders sagged, his head drooped, his spine curved downward.His fingers fidgeted with the creases in the bedsheet.

The back of Sniper’s hand was covered in a fine layer of fuzz, Scout noted, as he trailed his fingertips across it.To his surprise, Sniper angled his hand ever-so-slightly when he felt Scout’s touch, allowing Scout to curl his own hand around it.

“You know,” Sniper said, his voice not much more than a low rumble, “back abou’ two years ago, when RED disbanded for a bit…I went back home.To Australia, back to Mum ’n’ Dad.On account of I didn’t know where else to go.”

Scout didn’t know where this story was headed, but he didn’t dare interrupt.It wasn’t often that Sniper started divulging personal details out of the blue, and he didn’t want the other man to stop.In lieu of words, he gave Sniper’s hand a tiny squeeze.

_Go on._

“Mum had this album.Loved it.She’d play it all bleedin’ day.”A wan smile crept to Sniper’s lips.“Till Dad got home from the fruit shop, then Mum’d put on some Sinatra or something.Dad never did like the Seekers.I didn’t either, really.I heard ‘em in my bloody sleep, Mum listened to ‘em so much.”

Sniper gripped Scout’s hand a little tighter.

“Till they died,” Sniper said, “and the house got quiet.Too quiet, even for me.I’d play this record when I got lonesome.Kind of, er…kind of tricks you into thinkin’ you’re not as alone as you really are, I suppose.”He gave a mirthless laugh.

If this record reminded him so much of his parents, why would he want to torture himself and listen to it, Scout wondered?Maybe it brought some good memories back with the bad ones.Or maybe Sniper was just feeling homesick and needed something to remind him of the bush. 

But could you really feel homesick for a place where no one was waiting for you when you got there?

“You’re lucky, Scout,” Sniper said, and it sounded weird for the man to use Scout’s name.He didn’t say it a lot; it sounded nearly foreign coming from his mouth.“You’ve got such a big family.I…now that Mum ’n’ Dad’re gone, I’ve got no one.”

Scout wished he could scoot a little further up the mattress, but his leg brace left him effectively anchored where he was.The best he could do was lean forward and trace his free hand along Sniper’s upper arm.

Maybe now was a good time to let some of that Scouty snark slip through.Not much, but just a tad. 

Though Sniper wasn’t looking at him, Scout offered him a reassuring smile anyhow.“You got _me_ , don’tcha?” he said.“Or what, I don’t count?”

Finally, Sniper turned his head and looked at him.Even through the yellow lenses of Sniper’s shooting glasses, Scout had no trouble seeing the hurt in the other man’s eyes.It squeezed at his heart.Scout blinked furiously, trying not to bawl all over the place.He had a soft spot for Snipes, and he hated hated _hated_ seeing him like that.

Maybe it was better for Scout to see him like that than for Sniper to keep it bottled up within himself, though.

“Yeah,” Sniper said, nodding once.“I do, don’t I?”

Sniper sniffled. 

He wasn’t crying, so far as Scout could tell, but he’d sniffled all the same.That little noise was what finally broke Scout’s resolve to be on his best behavior.He pulled his hands away from Sniper, only to hold his arms up and out, like a toddler waiting for someone to carry them up the stairs.

“I can’t take it no more, Snipes, ya killin’ me here,” he said, still determined not to shed any tears, but not quite as determined to keep his childish behavior in line.“Gimme a hug or somethin’, I’d do it but I can’t reach ya, c’mon, please.”

Sniper was motionless for a moment, leaving Scout’s arms dangling in the air, but the man finally relented.He inched closer to Scout and crumpled into Scout’s embrace, his chin digging almost painfully into Scout’s shoulder.

“What if that Nurse walks in and sees us like this?” Sniper murmured into Scout’s ear.

One of Scout’s hands went to the back of Sniper’s head, fingers toying with the curly cowlick at the nape of Sniper’s neck.His other hand lingered between Sniper’s shoulder blades, his nubbly fingernails scratching useless patterns there.

“That Nurse has literally not said _one_ word to me this whole time I’ve been in here,” Scout said, his voice muffled from the collar of Sniper’s shirt almost touching his lips.“Even if they do see us, they ain’t gonna say nuttin’ to nobody.They seem kinda cool, I don’t think they’d do that.”

Sniper’s arms tightened around the small of Scout’s back.“The Administrator might not like our…our seein’ each other, though.What if word gets back to her?What then, do you reckon?”

“What’s she gonna do, fire us?We only got _millions_ a dollars in the bank.She’s got a problem, we’ll tell her old dusty ass to go screw herself and we’ll go have fun for the rest of our lives.Hey, just think.If we get fired, you can finally take me campin’.”

“You’d hate campin’,” Sniper said, surprising Scout by turning his head long enough to plant a kiss square in the middle of his cheek.

For a few moments, Scout was speechless.He didn’t know something so simple as a kiss on the cheek could leave the whole left side of his face tingling. 

“I dunno, Snipes,” he said after awhile, “I always wanted to roast marshmallows and shit.I could like it.”

Sniper said nothing in reply to this, merely huffed a slight laugh through his nose.Well, that was a good thing, Scout guessed.Maybe Sniper was starting to feel a little better.

He took in Sniper’s scent, breathing it deeply while trying not to be too obvious about what he was doing.Unlike the plethora of perfumed, hairsprayed, makeupped girls he’d held like this, Sniper smelled like sun, like old leather and fabric softener, like soap-scrubbed skin and whatever his body’s natural oils were comprised of.He could catch a whiff of it as Sniper walked by, sometimes, if he was lucky.But Scout’s nose was quite literally buried in the smell now.He couldn’t get enough of it.It made him feel lightheaded.

And it also kinda made him wonder what he himself smelled like.He couldn’t fully submerge himself in water due to his leg, so his showers were mostly him catching water with a washcloth and rubbing fruitlessly at his skin with it.Washing his hair was an Olympic event in and of itself, and he had a funny feeling he didn’t do a very good job at getting it totally clean.And to top it all off, Nurse had been doing his laundry for him, and his clothes didn’t smell like they usually did when Scout washed them (he didn’t know why, but they didn’t). 

To put it bluntly, he was pretty sure he smelled like ass, but there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it.

Well, if he reeked, Sniper didn’t seem to mind it.They stayed that way, clutching each other awkwardly, until the needle reached the end of the record and static popped and hissed through the turntable’s speaker.

The spell was broken.Slowly, Sniper pulled himself out of Scout’s arms, sitting on the edge of the bed in a haze for a moment before standing up.

“Let me get that,” he muttered, making his way to the turntable.He grabbed the needle arm with a thumb and forefinger, guiding it back to its resting place, then took the record off the platter and slid it back into its album sleeve.

“Sure y’don’t wanna listen to the other side?” Scout said.“I don’t mind, if ya wanna.”

“Nah,” Sniper said.“Just wanted to hear it for a bit.For old time’s sake, I guess.”He scratched at his wrist.Scout was beginning to think that was a nervous habit of his.“Maybe we might—“

Sniper was interrupted by the sound of two authoritative knocks sounding against the door.Before Scout could even yell for the person to go ahead and let themselves in, they took it upon themselves to barge into the room.

“Hey there, Skeeter,” Engineer said, carrying a cumbersome-looking toolbox in his arms. 

“Uh, hey, Hardhat,” Scout said, confused.He could possibly understand Engineer dropping by to pay him a polite ten minutes’ visit, or something…but if that was what he was doing, why would he feel the need to bring a toolbox with him?

“How’re you, Slim?” Engineer asked, sitting the toolbox down at the foot of the bed. 

“‘M fine,” Sniper said uncertainly.“You?”

“Can’t complain,” Engineer said, opening the toolbox.He pulled a wrench from its innards, pointing at Scout with it.“Scout’s about to be complainin’, though.”

Scout’s eyes widened in alarm.“Why, where the hell’re ya gonna put that thing?”

Engineer chuckled at him.“I gotta adjust your brace, son,” he said.“Doc told me the swellin’s gone down quite a bit and we needa tighten that puppy up.”

“And that’s gonna hurt?”

“Well, I don’t figure it’s gonna feel _good_ , me squeezin’ your sore leg,” Engineer said, positioning the wrench onto one of the bolts at the top of the brace.“Ah, maybe it won’t be too bad.”

Scout looked over to Sniper, who had a hand on the back of his neck, looking around the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself— like he was the odd man out.Scout knew he should probably say something to him to put him at ease, but this was a little bit of an odd situation.He didn’t know how long this whole brace-tightening ordeal was gonna take, and he’d hate for Snipes to sit around listening to him moaning and groaning as Engie jostled his injured leg around.He guessed the best thing to do would be to let Sniper know he didn’t have to stay.

He started arguing back and forth with himself in his mind.

_I want him to stay, though._

_Yeah, but look at him, he’s so uncomfortable over there.Look at that face he’s makin’, it’s pitiful.You should just tell him he can come back tomorrow._

_Well, but the thing about that is, we don’t hardly get to see each other at all anymore, me bein’ cooped up in here.So—so I don’t_ want _him to go._

_Okay, but have ya considered you’re bein’ a selfish prick right now?_

_…Shit, you’re right._

“Hey, Snipes, uh…you ain’t gotta stay for this, I don’t figure it’s gonna—“

But he cut off his own sentence with a piercing cry as the leg brace dug into his swollen, tender flesh.He saw little white stars darting across the outer corners of his vision and his stomach lurched dangerously, like he might puke up the meager offerings that passed for a meal around here. 

“ _Son of a_ ** _bitch_** _!_ ”

“Sorry, son,” Engineer said, giving him a pat on the arm that did not help matters at _all_.“It’s gotta be that tight, though, we gotta keep compression on it or—“

“ _Compression my ass!  It feels like a frickin’_ ** _knife_** _stabbin’ me, man, I can’t_ ** _take_** _this shit!_ ”

He was screaming.A dull part of his mind realized that.But there was jack shit he could do about it.

“Listen, Doc said if the pain’s really that bad, maybe he could give ya a little somethin’ to take the edge off for just a few—“

“ _No!_ ” Scout wailed, chest heaving, a fistful of bedsheet in both his gnarled hands.“ _I ain’t takin’ no more a that shit, ya know what it did to me, I ain’t gonna—_ “

And then he felt the tears streaming down his face like a floodgate had opened.The pain in his leg was _so_ bad—so, so bad—worse than when Nurse changed his bandages every morning, worse than the other day when Doc had to drain pus from one of the incisions.The brace was _squeezing_ his femur, which would hurt like a bitch under normal circumstances, but right after he’d had surgery on it?He couldn’t take it.He was losing his mind.

“Y’gotta loosen that thing, I can’t do this,” he said feebly, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.He hated that Sniper was seeing him like this, being all weak and crying and shit.He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t in so much agony.

“I cain’t,” Engineer said with a sorrowful shake of his head.“Just lemme get the rest a these bolts tightened right quick, okay?Let’s just get it all over with in one go-round.I’ll be fast at it.”

This probably wouldn’t be so bad if he could have some kind of narcotic to dull the pain.Like regular frickin’ people.But he knew if he ever started that again, he wouldn’t be able to stop.He didn’t know where that dangerous road would lead him again, but he doubted he’d get lucky twice.The first time he overdosed, Miss Pauling had awoken him and offered him the job of a lifetime.Here, he didn’t have to worry much about death—respawn would probably revive him—but there were a plethora of other things he stood to lose now.

Like Sniper, for instance.

No, he wouldn’t be taking any more codeine or morphine or seconal or any of that other bullshit ever again.  He’d have to suck it up and get through this without ‘em.

He felt something nudging his arm.He peeled his hands away from his face and looked with bleary eyes up at Sniper.Somehow, Sniper had crossed the room and came to stand at his bedside without Scout even noticing.Sniper’s face was stony and emotionless, but beneath those yellow-tinted lenses, his eyes were glassy.

“I hate that you’re seein’ me like this, this is wicked embarrassin’ right now,” Scout said, his voice warbling.“But this really does feel like this one time when a BLU spy shot me a buncha times in the leg with a nail gun, like…like that didn’t kill me, obviously, so I had to hopscotch my ass across the field till I found the Doc, and that is _exactly_ what I’m feelin’ like right now.Like somebody’s pumpin’ my leg fulla nails.”He inhaled deeply through his nose, sucking up snot, then swiped some of the tears from his face. 

He could feel Engineer working away at his brace, tightening it, but the pain didn’t worsen.If it did, Scout was pretty sure he’d pass out cold.True to his word, though, Engie seemed to be working as fast as his tiny human hand and slightly larger mechanical hand possibly could.Maybe if Scout would quit staring at it, it’d be better.He made the executive decision to keep his eyes pinned on Sniper.

_Look at me, look at me, look at me._

“Would it be okay if I brought a book wiv me tomorrow?” Sniper said, his voice oddly light and conversational.“I know I usually sit for a bit ’n’ chat wiv you, ’n’ then I leave, but…I wouldn’t mind to stay longer, you know.Keep you company.I don’t suppose we’ve gotta be talkin’ to each other the whole time, I could just…be in the room, here.Might make you feel less lonesome, yeah?”

“Yeah, and I could—draw, or sum’n, or I got—got comic books I could look at.Just like we used to do up on Sniper’s Ridge.”

“‘Sniper’s Ridge’?” Sniper questioned, smiling down at him and quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s wha—what I call that big rock out—out there, that we used to—go and sit on, remember?”

“Course I remember, that was only a few months ago we did that.’M not _that_ old yet, ‘m not _senile_.”

Despite the pain, Scout grinned.Sniper was trying so hard to keep him distracted while Engineer finished up on his brace.And it was actually working.

“But you ain’t gotta—sit in some stuffy room all—all evenin’, that kinda sucks for you, don’t it?But—but yeah, maybe just to—tomorrow, you could come keep—keep me company?”

Sniper nodded.His lips parted like he was about to add something to that, but before he could, Engineer interrupted by tossing his wrench back into his toolbox with a noisy clang. 

“Done and done,” he said.“Your leg should adjust to that pressure, it won’t be this bad for long.And I figure any minute now your endorphins’ll kick in, that oughta help out some.”

“Sweet Jesus, I hope so,” Scout whined, his face coated in a sheen of sweat.

Engineer reached over and gave him a couple good-natured pats on the back.“Proud of ya.”

For what, he wanted to ask, losing control of himself and crying like a little brat?Shit, he was mad at himself, and his anger had multiplied by a gajillion since Sniper had been there to witness his little outburst.Hell, Sniper had felt so bad about it, he’d felt compelled to come over and calm Scout down.That was embarrassing for sure, but he hated himself for putting Sniper through that.What kinda guy does that to his—to his—

Well he didn’t wanna say _boyfriend_ , but he couldn’t think of an appropriate word just then.

What kinda guy does that to his boyfr—

—He couldn’t even make his own mind finish the thought.

Anyway, he felt horrible about it.

To his credit, Engineer didn’t linger at Scout’s side waiting for a response to his “I’m proud of you” comment, which Scout was grateful for.He didn’t know if he could think of something good to say in reply to that, even if he _wasn’t_ in misery.That particular phrase was not one he’d heard very many times in his life.Engineer closed his toolbox and hoisted it into his arms.

“Well, I’ll go on and get outta your hair now,” Engineer said.“I’d stay and visit, but it looks like you’re already entertainin’ company.”

“Yeah, I’m entertainin’ alright, I’m just a barrel of fun,” Scout griped, wincing as a fresh stab of pain throbbed through his femur.Admittedly, though, the pain was starting to lose its edge.Maybe those endo-whatevers were starting to work their way through his blood.

Engineer gave a hoot of laughter at Scout’s comment as he ambled to the door.When he made it to the doorway he turned around and said, “you boys stay outta trouble, hear?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scout said, garnering another chuckle from Engie as the door closed behind the man.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Scout attempted to save face with Sniper. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean to like, like _cry_ and shit, it just hit me all at once, y’know?I don’t cry when I get shot or nuttin’, I’m usually real good at takin’ pain, but—I dunno, ever since that surgery, man, my leg—it just _always_ hurts.And Hardhat started twistin’ on this frickin’ thing and it was just too much, I—I dunno.”

Sniper sat down on the edge of the bed, turning his head to look Scout in the eye.“No worries,” he said, attempting a small smile.“I’m, er…not good at this type o’ thing…you know…words of comfort.But…”Sniper gave a slight shake of his head.“This…all this…must be rough.And if you shed a tear or two, that’s…that’s perfectly normal, I’d expect.And _I_ certainly don’t…you know.Think any less of you.”

Sniper laughed a little under his breath.“God, I’m rubbish at this.I can barely string a sentence together.Hope that didn’t make y’feel _worse_.”

“Nah,” Scout smiled, leaning forward and pecking a kiss near the corner of Sniper’s mouth.“That was pretty good, Legs.”

Scout wished he had the energy to do more, but he couldn’t remain upright any longer.The whole brace-tightening ordeal left him exhausted.He eased back to rest against the mattress, his head on the pillow.

“I know I’m bein’ a big wet blanket right now,” Scout started, but interrupted himself with a yawn

“No, s’fine,” Sniper said.“You’re not in here to entertain guests, you’re in here to feel better.”

“Think I’m gonna fall asleep, though,” Scout said, feeling his eyes drift closed.  He couldn’t keep them open any longer, no matter how hard he tried to fight it

“Go to sleep, then,” Sniper said simply.

“Yeah, but we don’t ever get to see each other anymore, hardly, I don’t wanna go to sleep.”

“We see each other every day, mate.”There was slight amusement in Sniper’s voice.

“Yeah, but”—Scout yawned again—“not for very long, and…”

He must’ve dozed off, because the next time he opened his eyes, the lights were off and the room was empty.

Once again, he was alone—alone with nothing but the throb in his leg to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, the "I like you and you like me and we're both aware of that now" thing happened, so THIS chapter could've gone in about a thousand different directions. Which it sorta did--I wrote some, scrapped it, wrote some more, scrapped it again. I wanted to get so many different points across, but none of them seemed right.
> 
> Then I wrote the chapter above, and I think I like it. It gives me a good way to steer into the next chapter. 
> 
> Also, the first song on that Seekers album I mentioned earlier is this one if you wanna listen to it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqMZePE7SQk


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning that I'll mention up here, since it's not spoilery. There's a decently graphic depiction of a profusely-bleeding wound in this chapter. Sorry!

Something had embedded itself deep into the flesh of Sniper’s upper arm.He wasn’t sure what, exactly—the entry wound looked too jagged for a bullet.Probably shrapnel, if he had to guess.He had to set up his nest much closer to the fray than usual, so a piece of wayward metal or wood hurtling at him wasn’t completely out of the question. 

Though his nest left much to be desired, he still didn’t want to leave it; he didn’t fancy getting his head blown off, thanks very much.Instead of making a dash for a dispenser or tracking down the Doc, he decided to take matters into his own hands by patching himself up.He unzipped his rucksack and got out his first aid kit, then fished out a wide roll of gauze. 

He barely touched the gauze roll to his arm when a jolt of pain shot down the entire length of his arm.The wound was agonizingly tender.Whatever had managed to wedge itself down in there, it must’ve done a lot of damage going in.Sniper gritted his teeth and quickly wrapped the gauze round and round his arm, eyes watering as he forced himself to tighten it.

It hurt, but at least he wouldn’t be bleeding to death now.He shoved the medkit back into his bag and picked his .308 rifle back up, resolving to get back to work.

But his shots were getting sloppier and sloppier.  As much as he tried to pretend his arm wasn’t bothering him, it just wasn’t working.  He rested his rifle in his lap for a moment to have another look at it.  Blood had permeated all the layers of the gauze and was now seeping out the top.

Apparently this was not something Sniper could take care of himself, then.

_Bugger_.

He had no choice but to find Doc or a dispenser, whichever came first.He slipped his rucksack onto his back and shouldered his rifle, crouching low as he crept out of his nest.

He’d set up shop that day in an abandoned warehouse.One might think that would be a perfectly fine place to get some good ol’-fashioned sniping done, but it wasn’t; old buildings with busted-out windows were like homing beacons for enemy spies.They did a sweep of those kinds of places first thing, and as such, Sniper tended to stay away from them as often as he could.

Sniper opened the warehouse’s front entrance the tiniest crack to peek out, and the damned thing nearly fell off its hinges, it was so rotted.So much for being stealthy—if any enemies happened to be in the immediate area, they would’ve seen him fumbling to keep the door from falling out of the frame.Since he was still in possession of all his bodily extremities, however, he figured he was in the clear.

Much like Sniper choosing a spot to serve as his nest, Engineer liked to set up his dispensers and teleporters in inconspicuous locations.There was another abandoned building directly across from the one Sniper stood in, which was about as good a place to start looking for Truckie as any.He eased out the door, careful not to let the thing clatter to the ground and bring attention to himself, and made a mad dash for the adjacent building.

Though it was two stories tall, there was no feasible way to make it to the second floor.The staircase had all but collapsed on itself.Sniper searched the ground floor and found nothing, so he tried again with the abandoned building to the right of the one he was currently in.

When he walked through the door, his eyes darted around the room and lit upon the familiar red contraption that was Engineer’s dispenser.  It was out in plain sight, but one of Engineer’s mini-sentries stood guard, swiveling its head this way and that in its constant search for enemies.  The sentry stared at him, passed some sort of infrared light up and down his body, and gave a satisfied _be-deep_ as it allowed Sniper to walk past it unscathed. 

Sniper stumbled over to the dispenser, his legs wobbly from blood loss, and draped himself over it.The machine began to work its magic before he even got the sodden gauze unraveled from his arm.He gave a contented sigh.

Whatever had been in his arm ejected itself with a satisfying pop, then clattered to the ground with a metallic thud.  Sniper heard someone to his left give out a low whistle, but he did not open his eyes to see who it was; the little sentry a few feet away from him would shoot any non-REDs on sight.  He was safe.

“Look’a that hunk a junk,” Engineer said.“That come outta your arm, Slim?”

“Suppose so,” Sniper said, the dispenser’s mysterious rays getting to work threading his tattered muscle back together.It tickled.

“It would appear as though I am not the only one having poor luck today,” another voice said.  The voice belonged to Spy, there was no doubt about that.  Sniper was surprised he couldn’t smell the ever-present aroma of Spy’s expensive cigarettes wafting through the air.  It wasn’t often you spotted Spy without a smoke dangling from his lip.

“Hoo boy, you shoulda seen Spy draggin’ through here a couple minutes ago,” Engineer said, amusement in his tone.“He was cooked _extra crispy_.”

Spy gave a disgusted snort.“The BLU team’s pyro has a bit of a vendetta against me, I suspect.He makes a point to set me ablaze at least once per day.”

Sniper grimaced.For obvious reasons, being burned alive was not an enjoyable experience.He hadn’t fallen victim to the BLU pyro’s penchant for molotov cocktails in at least a week; he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be subjected to it every _day_. 

“Think mine was just a bit of shrapnel,” Sniper said, surprising even himself that he was willingly joining in on the conversation. 

“Yeah, that’s prob’ly it,” Engineer said.“Scout’s replacement fella led BLU’s new demoman right to us.Lots of explodin’ goin’ on through here.”

At that, Sniper opened his eyes.Engineer was crouched in front of him, sorting through a bundle of wires leading from the dispenser. 

“So the new bloke’s here, is he?” Sniper asked, trying to keep his tone conversational, as opposed to the panic he truly felt.The fact that the new guy had finally arrived made him squirm with worry—for some reason.

“Yes,” Spy answered, stepping into Sniper’s frame of vision, though from this angle Sniper only saw the man’s patent-leather Oxfords and a bit of his tailored trousers.“Presumably, he is to be reprising Scout’s role on the team.We are to refer to him as ‘Looker.’”

“Kinda funny his codename’s Looker,” Engineer said, “‘cause, uh, how should I put this kindly—“

“He is quite unattractive,” Spy finished for him.

“Well he ain’t a _looker_ , that’s for sure,” Engineer said.

The dispenser’s red mist webbed Sniper’s top layer of skin back together, a prickly itch settling into his arm as his wound closed up.  Sniper straightened his back, turning his arm this way and that to inspect it through the frayed hole in his shirt.  It was a little swollen and reddened, but nothing like it was.  Much better.

“So he’s ugly,” Sniper said.

“Not—I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Engineer said.

“Why don’t you see for yourself, Bushman?” Spy said, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out a Polaroid photograph. 

Sniper thought about asking why Spy was carrying this new person’s photo around with him, but Sniper already knew the answer to that.Spy had to know every single shred of new information that presented itself amongst their team, and Scout’s temporary replacement was no exception.It was an invasion of privacy, no doubt, but Spy cared little for things of that nature.

Invasion of privacy or no, Sniper was glad Spy had taken the photo.He’d hate to run into the fellow without knowing what he looked like.He took the photo from Spy’s outstretched hand and inspected it.

It was a bit blurry—taken from a faraway distance, most likely—but Sniper had no trouble making out this Looker bloke’s basic features.He had a square head, a buzz cut with a reddish look to it, a squashed-in nose, beady eyes, and a wide, froggy mouth. An oblong brown birthmark, about as large as a quarter, marred his right cheek.He was tall and muscular, Sniper would give him that, but he looked too top-heavy; his arms were disproportionate to the rest of his body.In the photo, he was sneering, which added to his overall snotty appearance.Sniper knew he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but…

“He’s, erm…not the handsomest bloke I ever sawr, lemme say it that way.”  Sniper handed the photo back to Spy, who tucked it back into his suit jacket.  “Either o’ you seen him face-to-face?  Talked to him, like?”

“Not yet,” Spy said, drawing a slim leather case from his suit jacket and producing a lavender-colored cigarette from it.He lit it with something Sniper didn’t see—sleeve lighter?—and held it between his index and middle finger.“I cannot get close enough to strike up a conversation with him.He is always on the move.”He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the delicate wisps of smoke expelling from his lungs and permeating the air.His eyes locked with Sniper’s.“But you can tell Scout that this new gentleman cannot run nearly as fast as he can.Given Scout’s ego, it should make him feel considerably better about this situation.”

Something about the way Spy said that didn’t sit well with Sniper.He supposed that if someone wanted to stick their nose where it didn’t need sticking—which was undoubtedly written into Spy’s job description—it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out that he and Scout were spending a lot of time together.All you’d have to do was follow him around after work and note where he went every day (namely Scout’s hospital room).But a bloody eight-year-old could do _that_ much sleuthing.The more Sniper thought about it, the more he doubted Spy would stop there.

Where had Spy intruded that he didn’t belong?  How much did he know, how much had he seen?  And more importantly, did he have photographic proof of any of it? 

Spy was civil enough, when you got to know him, but it was never a good idea to get on his bad side.Cross him, and he had enough blackmail on you to completely destroy your life.

Sniper hadn’t been planning on pissing Spy off, but he made a mental note to be especially careful from now on.No telling what Spy knew about his and Scout’s relationship, but it was safe to assume he knew all about it.

That alone made Sniper queasy, but he reckoned he couldn’t do anything about it.

Sniper mumbled an excuse about needing to get back to work and made his leave.He needed to find another suitable nest before the fighting picked back up again, and besides, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to try and catch a glimpse of this _Looker_ through the scope of his rifle.As he slipped into the next abandoned building he came to, he couldn’t help but hope Spy was right about Looker being half as fast as Scout—that really _would_ make Scout feel better, if he knew he was superior to his (temporary) replacement.

Scout was certainly far superior when it came to outward appearances; he was much handsomer than Looker.Or, at least, Sniper thought so.

…Then again, it was possible that Sniper was a bit biased when it came to who was better-looking.

His new hiding spot wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do—even without the aid of his scope, Sniper could see the BLU heavy weapons guy bounding in his direction.He knelt down out of sight, poked the barrel of his gun through a jagged window pane, and took aim.

 

****

 

When Sniper went to the med-bay that afternoon after work, he was surprised to find that Scout was out of bed.He was seated in a wheelchair, his injured leg jutting out in front of him at a right angle, held aloft by a leg-rest protruding from the chair.He had a drawing pad in lap and some kind of art utensil (a marker, maybe, Sniper couldn’t tell from that distance) in his hand.

The person they’d all come to refer to as ‘Nurse’ opened the door for him, and as soon as Sniper walked inside, Nurse skirted off into the next room to give him and Scout some privacy.Even though Sniper had never spoken to Nurse before, they had exchanged plenty of meaningful looks; at this point, Sniper would almost consider this Nurse person an acquaintance of his.

“Hey, good lookin’,” Scout said, flashing Sniper a toothy grin.  He capped his marker and sat it on top of his drawing pad. 

“You’re out of bed,” Sniper noted, taking a seat in a nearby straight-backed chair.

“I been in that thing for like two weeks straight,” Scout grimaced, “I couldn’t take it no more.  Long as I try and keep my leg as still as I can, I’ll be awright.”

The temptation to look down at Scout’s drawing was almost too much to bear.Sniper had been itching to see some of Scout’s other work ever since he’d been given the owl painting, but he was sure Scout’s drawings were private—or, at the very least, quite personal.He wouldn’t look unless invited to.It was only fair.He averted his eyes, looking instead at the refrigerator behind Scout’s head.

Scout followed Sniper’s gaze, turning around to look at the fridge, then turned back to Sniper with a bemused smile on his lips.  “What’s so interestin’ back there, huh?”

“Er,” Sniper said, not really sure what to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a bloody idiot.No point in fibbing about it, though—one of Scout’s many talents was that he was a human lie detector.“I was tryin’ not to look at your drawring, there.”

Scout let out a little laugh.“How come?”  


“Well, I just reckoned it was private…”

“Nah, nah, if it was private I woulda put it up when ya came in the room,” Scout said.He held up the drawing pad for Sniper to look at.“See, nuttin’ private.”

For a moment, Sniper roved his eyes across the page, dumbfounded.He didn’t quite know what to say.

The page was full of drawings of him.

Sniper with his head tilted downward, reading a book propped open in his lap.Sniper with a coffee mug cradled in his hands.Sniper crouching down to pet a scraggly orange tabby cat.Sniper wearing the red argyle shirt he only wore on special occasions ( _so he did notice it,_ Sniper thought).Not to mention an impressive rendition of Sniper standing in front of a mirror, shaving—how Scout could draw his back _and_ his mirror image so perfectly was beyond him.Had Scout ever even _seen_ him standing in front of a mirror before?He certainly hadn’t ever seen Sniper shaving.

“Does it creep ya out?” Scout asked, smiling sheepishly.“It’s, uh…kinda weird, I know, but it’s like my frickin’ hand’s got a mind of its own sometimes—just draws what it wants, y’know?”

Maybe Sniper _should_ think it was weird, but he didn’t.  “Doesn’t bother me,” Sniper said.  “Fact, I’m…I’m a bit flattered, really.”

“For real?Oh, thank God.I thought ya might think I’m some kinda weirdo, or sum’n.”

“You’re quite good at that.Drawring, I mean.”

“Ya really think so, huh?” Scout said, beaming.“Here lately I’ve been tryin’ to get better at perspective, but I keep— _oh!_ Oh, shit, I nearly forgot, is the new dude here yet?‘Cause I heard ‘em bangin’ stuff around in the hallway and I thought he might be movin’ in, finally.”

Sniper was hoping Scout would ask about that.He was in the mood to hop on his soap box for a moment or two.“He’s here, all right,” Sniper grumbled.“’N’ he’s a no-hoper if I ever sawr one, that’s a _fact_.”

Scout appeared to take morbid joy— _schadenfreude_ , as Doc would call it—in hearing that.“So he sucks eggs, huh?You gotta tell me about him, like I wanna know everything, like—well what’s his codename?It ain’t _Scout,_ is it?Please tell me it ain’t.”

“It’s not,” Sniper said with a shake of his head.  “We’re supposed to call him Looker.”

“Looker?Pff.That’s lame.And what does Looker _look_ like, does he got big muscles, is he tall, what?”

“He is pretty muscular,” Sniper admitted, “but he don’t look right—if that makes sense.”

“Kinda how I got these big thunder thighs down here, but then I got these little bird arms up top?” Scout grinned, flexing his biceps.

Sniper chuckled at him.Scout really did seem to be in a much better mood now that he was out of that hospital bed.“No, no, you don’t look _strange_ like this Looker bloke does.He looks…lumpy, I suppose’d be a good way to describe it.His lower arms are nearly bigger than his upper ones, ’n’ one side of his chest looks loads bigger than the other side.”

“What’s his face look like, is he handsome, is he ugly, is he kinda normal…?”

“He’s, er…not…the best lookin’ bloke I ever seen, I’ll put it that way.”

“So I’m better-lookin’ than he is?” Scout said hopefully.

“Oh, by far,” Sniper said without hesitation.“He’s got these beady little eyes that give me the right creeps.Big ol’ pumpkin head, mouth that takes up half his bloody face, ’n’ he’s got this big birthmark on his cheek that looks like somebody colored on him with a magic marker when he weren’t lookin’.”

Normally, Sniper wouldn’t dig into someone’s outward appearance like that—he, himself knew what it felt like to be ridiculed for your looks—but he’d honestly thought it would make Scout feel a bit better about this whole situation.

But by the looks of things, though, it had done quite the opposite.

Sniper watched as sudden realization crept to Scout’s face—his eyes widened, his eyebrows rose and crinkled his forehead, his mouth gaped open.Sniper didn’t like that look one bit; it made him feel squirmy.He wondered what he’d said to have caused that sort of reaction.

“Big birthmark?” Scout said.“Right here?”He brought his finger up to his face, jabbing his fingertip to his right cheek.

“Yeah,” Sniper said uncertainly.

“‘Bout this big around?” Scout said, curling his thumb and forefinger into an oblong O shape, indicating a size about as large as a quarter.

“Er…yeah,” Sniper said.  “Why, d’you…you think you might know him from somewhere?”

Scout’s face changed dramatically, morphing from surprised to downright furious.Sniper tensed.

“Does he got red hair?”

“Well it’s buzzed nearly flat, but—but yeah, he does.”

“Real square jawline, like _square_ square, like kinda _weird_ square?”

“Yeah—you’ve seen this bloke before, haven’t you?”

Scout’s eyes darkened.  He calmly sat his drawing pad and his marker atop his bed, then began propelling himself in the wheelchair toward the door.

For a moment, Sniper was taken aback, unsure as to what exactly was happening.But he snapped out of it quickly enough, jumping out of his seat and trailing after the man.

“Where’re you going, mate?” he said as Scout struggled to hold the heavy door open and wedge himself out at the same time.“You can’t be rollin’ all over the place, you said it yourself, you’ve gotta keep your leg still—“

Scout looked back at him, and it was obvious that Scout was trying very, very hard to keep his hot temper in check.“Help me get this door open, please,” he said slowly, icily.

“Now—now wait just a bloody minute, gremlin,” Sniper said, gently tugging Scout’s hand away from the door handle.He held it sandwiched between his own hands for a moment, feeling the tremors that ran through it, the sweat that slicked it.He gave it a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.“What’s got you so desperate to get outta here all sudden-like?”

“I gotta know if it’s really him,” Scout said, and his voice sounded so pathetic that Sniper nearly crumbled, nearly held the door open for him so he could wheel himself out.But that was a horrible idea, and Sniper knew that.

“This Looker bloke?” Sniper asked, just to be sure.Couldn’t be anyone else, he thought, but he needed to be certain.

“Yeah, I—I think me and him usedta be—on the same baseball team.  But I don’t—but I gotta know, I can’t sit here not knowin’, I—“

And just like that, Scout’s face went from sad to angry yet again.“I wanna give that asshole a piece a my mind if it’s him, I got some _things_ I been wantin’ to say, I told myself if I _ever_ saw him again I’d speak my piece and then I’d punch his goddamn lights out.I got a knuckle sandwich with Bucky’s name written aaaaall over it, and if that’s really him out there, I’m—“

“Bucky’s his name?”

That snapped Scout out of his rant.He shrugged, like it didn’t really matter, but then he said, “yeah.”

“Don’t think you’ve ever mentioned him ‘round me before, have you?”

“Prob’ly not,” Scout said, gnawing on his bottom lip.“I don’t like to talk about him much, it’s…it’s just a buncha shit that happened in high school, I guess, but I’m still real sore about it.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it, then?” Sniper said, gesturing back to his straight-backed chair across the room.  “Dunno what happened, but I’m sure it ain’t worth riskin’ your leg to try ’n’ fight him.”

“You could beat the shit outta him _for_ me, Snipes,” Scout said, attempting a smile.

“I may do.Tell me the story, and I’ll see.”

Scout looked to the door, then back over to Sniper’s chair.He sighed deeply, then wheeled himself back over to the chair.“Awright, I’ll tell ya all about Bucky.Hell, this poor guy might not even _be_ Bucky, I mean, what’re the odds a that, but—but I’ll tell ya anyway.Y’know, cause…cause I trust ya and shit.”

“Heartwarming,” Sniper grinned, crossing the room to sit next to him.He was desperate to hear anything about Scout’s past; as it was, he didn’t know a lot.He leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs, settling in for what was bound to be an interesting tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was pretty sad, so I tried to make this one...less sad? It wasn't fluff by any means, but it wasn't overly angsty, either.


	15. Chapter 15

“But that don't make much sense, does it?” Sniper said.“If he went ’n’ got some girl pregnant, you’d think he’d want his best mate around to—I dunno, be there for moral support, at least.”

It was obvious that Sniper was doing his absolute best to try and imbibe all of this information.Normally Sniper tended to listen more than talk, but right now, he was full of questions.On more than one occasion in the past, Sniper had mentioned he didn’t have any friends growing up.Complicated stuff like the whole Bucky situation were notably difficult for Sniper to make sense of, since he didn’t have any points of reference to compare it to. 

And to make matters more complicated, Scout had never told another soul about Bucky.Sure, his Ma and brothers knew about him, would probably recognize him if they saw him, even, but they didn’t _know_ about Bucky.They didn’t know Scout had had a hopeless crush on the guy.And they _definitely_ didn’t know the two of them had kissed.Sniper was the first person he’d ever told the entire story to, from start to finish, and it came out poorly organized and confusing.It was no surprise that Sniper would be full of questions.

Scout was silently grateful someone cared enough about him to ask at all.This thing with Bucky had been a thorn in his side for far too long.And if that new Looker guy really _was_ Bucky, he’d be yanking that thorn out once and for all.

“It didn’t really make a lotta sense to me, either, at first,” Scout answered.  “Guess I’ll never know for sure what he was thinkin’, cuttin’ me outta his life like that, but I got a couple ideas.”

“Like what, maybe…maybe he thought in some odd way, he’d be sparin’ your feelings, you reckon?”

“See, that was my very first thought, but after thinkin’ about it for awhile, I don’t think that was it.  If he was tryin’ so hard not to hurt my feelin’s, he’d’ve explained everything to me so I wouldn’t be…y’know.  Left wonderin’.  Like he could’ve just said to me, ‘I like you a lot, like I _like_ like you, but I did sum’n stupid, I got my girlfriend pregnant.  And I can’t be foolin’ around with you and lookin’ after her at the same time.’

And y’know what?  I’m not an idiot, I came from a whole house fulla kids who ain’t got a frickin’ clue who their dad is, me included.  And if Bucky wanted to kick my ass to the curb and go be the best dad in the world, I woulda understood that!  I woulda understood that better than anybody, prob’ly!  I—he—I told him about me growin’ up without a dad, he shoulda known I woulda understood.  We coulda still been friends, I mean—!  Yeah, it woulda been weird, but I woulda tried! 

So I don’t think it’s got a frickin’ _thing_ to do with sparin’ _my_ feelin’s, nah.I think he was just bein’ an asshole.”

When Scout finally finished his rant, Sniper sat there in silence, seeming to let all of that information percolate.  It was a few good seconds before he said anything in reply.

“All o’ that sounds about right to me,” he said, “but you gotta remember, the two o’ you were still in secondary school when all this happened.Teenagers ain’t exactly notorious for makin’ the best decisions.”

Scout knew all about being a teenager and making bad decisions.Bucky was no different.Maybe the whole thing with Bucky had turned out so bad because neither of them knew how to really deal with it.

Maybe he should just forget all about Bucky.Why should he waste his time, why should he get all bent out of shape, because of something that happened over six years ago?Scout still had a deep-seated anger towards the man—that couldn’t be helped, he was temperamental by nature—but maybe it would be better if he forgot all about the whole “giving Bucky a piece of his mind” thing.Unless he actively hunted the man down, the two of them would likely never cross paths.He could be the bigger person and let it go.

All of this was assuming the new guy _was_ Bucky after all.Maybe it was just some guy who looked like him.Scout didn’t know for sure, yet.

“Snipes?” Scout said.

“Mm?”

“Could I getcha to do me a huge favor?”

“Dunno if I like the sound o’ that,” Sniper said, but he was grinning.

“I just—I just _gotta_ know if this dude’s really him or not,” Scout said.  “It’s drivin’ me nuts.  You said Spy took a picture of him, didn’tcha?”

Sniper didn’t outright sigh, but he exhaled slowly.“You want me to go fetch the photo ’n’ bring it back here, I suspect?”

“Wouldja please?I’ll owe ya one big time.”

“I dunno,” Sniper mumbled, “Spy’s kind of like me, he likes to keep to himself ’n’ all…”His left hand jerked over to scratch at his right wrist, then migrated up to graze across the stubble of his cheek.His aloof, somewhat hardened facial expression seemed to say “I’ll do it if you insist, but I’m hoping you won’t make me.”

Scout opened his mouth to beg Sniper, _plead_ with him—he needed to see that picture so bad, he needed to _know_ —but Scout managed to come to his senses before he said anything stupid.It was obvious Sniper didn’t want to talk to Spy.He was fidgeting all over the place and wouldn’t even come close to meeting Scout’s eyes.

“Uh, hey, y’know what?” Scout said.“On second thought, I don’t need to see that picture.I mean, who cares if this guy’s really Bucky, right?”He flapped a dismissive hand.“I’ll just forget about it, no problem.”

Sniper’s fidgeting all but stopped as he bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling.“You’re a rotten liar, you know that?”

“I ain’t lyin’, though!You don’t gotta get the picture, Snipes, I know ya don’t like dealin’ with people and stuff, I…I shoulda never brought it up, man, my bad.”

Sniper stood up abruptly and adjusted his hat.“He’s not gonna hand it over,” Sniper said, tugging his vest back into place.“But I’ll ask.Know why?”

“‘Cause ya like me?” Scout said hopefully.

Sniper allowed himself a slight smile.“Maybe a bit.”

Sniper turned, as if he was about to make his leave.  But before he could get very far, Scout stopped him.

“Oh hey, hang on, turn back around here for a sec.”

Sniper did as he was told, pivoting on his heel to face Scout.“Yeah?”

“Ya got sum’n on ya face right here,” Scout said, running a finger across his own left cheek, “looks like dried blood, maybe?”

Sniper wiped at his face with the flat of his hand.“I promise I showered before I came over here,” he said.“Suppose I missed a spot.Did I get it?”

“Kinda—here, lean down, lemme get it.”

Sniper bent down to Scout’s level, and when he did, Scout grabbed the man’s shirt collar to pull him close and planted a rather loud kiss square on his mouth.  When he pulled away, Sniper merely looked at him in awe for a moment, before flicking Scout on the forehead with his index finger.

“Ow!” Scout said, though it hadn’t really hurt.

“That was a dirty trick,” Sniper mumbled, giving Scout’s head full of already messy hair a brief tousle.

“Ain’t so bad a liar after all, am I?” Scout said triumphantly.

“I’ll be gettin’ you back for that,” Sniper said, a mischievous glint in his eye.Without waiting for Scout to reply, Sniper turned on his heel again and made for the door.

_I hope ya do_ , Scout thought, eyes drinking up the sight of Sniper’s long, long legs sauntering out of the room. _I hope ya do_.

 

****

 

_This is what you get for fancyin’ someone_ , Sniper thought as he walked down the hallway to Spy’s bedroom. _Hope you’re happy_.

He’d tried to get Scout to let him off the hook.  He didn’t want to walk up to _any_ of his teammates’s bedroom doors and go knocking on it, least of all Spy’s.  And Scout had actually said it was fine if he didn’t go, but what was he doing?  Walking toward Spy’s bedroom.  And why?

Because even though Scout tried to conceal everything beneath all those jokes and smiles, Sniper could see the worry and hurt in the man’s eyes.Scout wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew if this bloke was really Bucky or not; he’d hyperfocus on it and drive himself mad. 

If Sniper had been having any doubts or second thoughts about going to fetch the photograph, they’d been swept away when Scout had kissed him just a moment ago.It had been fleeting, brief, but what made it different from the last time their lips came together was that he didn’t have time to prepare himself for it.As a result, it knocked him completely for a loop, and it made him think—made him feel— _things_.He still didn’t know how to describe what he felt for Scout.It was far too early in the game to call it love, he wasn’t _that_ green, but this feeling certainly felt like it was well on its way to _becoming_ love.Part of him didn’t want to admit that, really, but it couldn’t be helped.It was a watered-down sort of love, he supposed.A tender affection, a fondness, a…oh, hell, he didn’t know.All he knew was that he was standing in front of Spy’s bedroom door, staring at it, trying to work up the courage to knock.

After a full minute of just standing there, he shook his head.He couldn’t do this.He tried to tell himself it was just Spy, he’d talked to the man earlier for God’s sake, he wasn’t going to bite his head off.(And if he did bite his head off, he’d just end up back in respawn.)But even from outside the room, he could smell that fancy cigarette smoke wafting from underneath the crack in the door.Spy was probably in there lounging about with his tie loosened and his shoes kicked off, having himself a leisurely smoke, enjoying his rare moment of solitude.Sniper couldn’t interrupt him, what would he say?He wanted to borrow a picture Spy had taken so Scout could see whether or not it was an old flame of his?That just sounded ridiculous.

“Do you intend to stand there all evening, or are you waiting for an invitation inside?” came an amused-sounding voice from the other side of the door.Sniper nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Sorry,” Sniper said automatically.“Could I—talk to you?For a second?”

As soon as he said that, Spy swung the door open.Like all the mercs (or most, anyway, Sniper suspected), he had shorn his bloodied clothing from the workday and was now dressed in a clean suit similar to the ones he wore on the field.He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket, Sniper noted, and had allowed himself the luxury of rolling his shirtsleeves nearly to the elbow, but he still wore those cumbersome leather gloves and that form-fitting balaclava.To each their own, Sniper supposed.

“Actually, I have been expecting you, Bushman,” Spy said, stepping to the side to usher Sniper into the room.“Come inside.Make yourself at home.”

Sniper didn’t like the sound of that.It couldn’t possibly mean anything good, but he may as well not dwell on it; he was here now, and he had no choice but to go inside.He willed his feet to step over the threshold.

Though the room was the same size as Scout’s regular bedroom, its layout was radically different.A row of filing cabinets lined an entire wall over to Sniper’s left, undoubtedly stuffed full of confidential documents and candid photos and all sorts of other incriminating items.There was a standard single bed catty-corner to the filing cabinets; unlike Scout’s bed, which had a fitted sheet and a Red Sox throw blanket and a garden-variety pillow atop it, Spy’s bed was so pristine you could bounce a coin off the neatly-tucked duvet.Across from the bed was an armoire with intricate fleur de lis patterns carved into the wood, no doubt imported from somewhere fancy ( _France_ , if Sniper had to hazard a guess). 

The other half of the room looked as though it might be a businessman’s office quarters.  There was a small, round table with four chairs around it, and to the side of that was a love seat and coffee table.  Behind the love seat was something that looked like an awful lot like some sort of high-end, wood-paneled refrigerator—it had an electrical cord running from it, and it also had a handle—but Sniper couldn’t be sure. 

Sniper wasn’t too keen on the idea of siting side-by-side with Spy, so he chose to sit at the table instead of the couch.Perhaps that was rude, but if it was, Spy had the decency not to tell him about it.

Once he was seated, Spy stepped into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.He went to the filing cabinet and plucked two small, squat glasses from it, then went to the little refrigerator (the mysterious piece of furniture had been a refrigerator after all, Sniper noted) and withdrew a brown glass bottle from it.Spy plunked the glasses onto the tabletop and filled each of them halfway with the dark, sweet-smelling liquid.

Sniper was mildly curious about what kind of liquor could be residing in that tall, ornate bottle, but he didn’t bother asking.Just as long as it wasn’t complete rotgut stuff—which Spy wouldn’t be caught dead drinking—he could stomach it.When it came to liquor, Sniper wasn’t very picky.

“Thanks,” he muttered, grabbing the glass and taking an experimental sip.It had a similar bite to whiskey, though the flavor was vaguely fruity.He watched as Spy opened another filing cabinet drawer, pulled out a thick manila folder, and brought it over to the table.

Spy took a leisurely drink from his glass before speaking.“I’m sure you are wondering why I was expecting you,” he said.

“Yeah,” Sniper said, unsure of what he should say to that other than a general affirmation.

“I was doing a bit of…research on our new teammate,” Spy said, flipping the folder open.“And I found something quite interesting.”

He took something from the folder and slid it across the table.With uncertain hands, Sniper picked up the item in question and had a look at it.

It was a large, full-color photograph of a bunch of scruffy kids in baseball uniforms.They were standing on some sort of riser (or maybe a set of bleachers) in three neat rows, so it was most likely a school yearbook photo.In the front row, smiling that unmistakable buck-toothed grin, was a Scout from six years ago.

Though he tried not to, Sniper broke out into a grin at the sight of it. _Lookit him, he looks exactly the same.Hair was a lot shorter back then, but other than that, this picture could’ve been taken yesterday._

“Yes, but have a look at who is standing _beside_ Scout,” Spy said with that same amused tone he’d used earlier, as if he could read Sniper’s mind.

Sniper looked.Scout had his arm thrown around the shoulders of a copper-headed boy with a square head, beady little eyes, and a large blotch of a birthmark on his cheek.

“That’s the Looker bloke, innit?”Sniper asked, looking up from the picture.

“Yes, it is,” Spy said, taking another sip of his drink.

Sniper studied the photo again.“He didn’t age well, did he?”

Spy snorted.“Considering only six years have passed since that photo was taken, I should say not.I imagine you have spoken to Scout about this so-called Looker, non?”

Sniper took a drink from his glass.“Yeah.’S why I came here, actually.”

“You have given Scout a description of Looker’s physical appearance, no doubt—he _would_ want to know if he was the better-looking one,” Spy said with a smirk.  “And when you described this man to him, Scout noticed similar-sounding characteristics between Looker and his old teammate, Bucky McAllister.  Am I correct in those assumptions?”

Impressed, Sniper raised his eyebrows.“That’s exactly what happened.’N’ now he’s sent me to fetch that picture you took, so he’ll know if Looker and Bucky’re the same person.”He glanced down at the baseball photo again.“Which, I can see they are, but—“

“But he must see the evidence with his own eyes,” Spy finished for him.“I can respect that.”He riffled through some more papers inside the manila envelope, then pulled out the same Polaroid photograph he’d had tucked into his suit jacket earlier in the day.He held the photo between his index and middle fingers.“I would like this back as soon as you are finished with it, if you please.As of right now, it is my only copy, and it was quite difficult to acquire.”

He handed the Polaroid photo over to Sniper and stuck the baseball picture back into the manila folder.“I wouldn’t recommend taking this one, however,” he said, tapping at the baseball picture before shutting the folder.“The mind has a tendency to…well, you have heard the phrase ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder,’ yes?”

“Course,” Sniper said, a little confused as to where this conversation was headed.Maybe he meant that Scout’s years apart from Looker-slash-Bucky had made Scout like the man _more_?Surely not, after Looker had given Scout such an abrupt, unexplained cold shoulder.Then again, Sniper’s perception of emotions was a bit odd, so maybe he just didn’t know how the rest of the world thought about things like that.

“When you are close to someone and then you spend time apart from them,” Spy said, running a gloved fingertip around the rim of his glass, “your mind begins to form a…an _idealized version_ of that person.You conveniently forget all of the wrongs they have caused you and focus only on the good memories.I think it would be best if Scout thought back on these good memories with Looker as little as possible.”He flipped the folder shut, hiding the baseball picture from view.

“How come you’re so concerned with Scout all of a sudden?” Sniper asked.He hadn’t meant it in an accusatory way, he was merely curious.He thought Spy and Scout fought like two territorial housecats.Didn’t they?

Spy took another drink, then spoke.“Scout is irritating, I will admit.We exchange rude comments quite often, and if we are speaking to one another, we are usually having an argument. _However_.”His upper lip curled in disgust.“This _Looker_ is worse than Scout could ever be.At the very least, Scout has enough sense to know when to act civilized.I can get along with Scout if I must, merde, sometimes Scout’s company isn’t so horrible once you get past that grating accent and the sheer volume of his speaking voice.But I’m not so sure Looker possesses _any_ redeeming qualities.”

“So you’ve talked to him, then?”

“Yes,”Spy seethed.“I merely wanted to ask him a few questions about himself—it makes my job easier if people simply _tell_ me these things, after all—and he broke out into a fit of rage.I admit that my questions were a bit personal, but he could have refused to answer them instead of resorting to such an extreme.I was momentarily taken aback by such a ridiculous display, but I am not one to be insulted and do nothing about it.I told him I did not wish to start out on the wrong foot, as it were, but he would not listen.Things escalated from there, and he made the mistake of throwing a punch at me.”

“And I thought he made piss-poor decisions at _work_ ,” Sniper grumbled.“Suppose he’s just as stupid off the field, ain’t he?”

“Apparently so.Suffice it to say, the more I get to know this Looker, the more eager I am for Scout to make a quick recovery.”

Sniper huffed out a laugh at that.“I can tell ya one thing: nobody wants this bloke gone more than Scout does.He’s scared half to death Looker’s gonna take his job.”

“I highly doubt Looker will be replacing anyone.Scout is…”Spy sighed deeply, as if what he was about to say pained him.“…Quite good at his job, I must admit.And though he irritates me to no end with his tactless jokes about my home country and his hyperactivity, there is no _real_ ill intent behind his words or actions.Looker is different.There is something about him that does not seem right to me.I cannot explain it.”

Spy had downed quite a bit more of his drink than Sniper had; maybe that was the reason he was being so open about all of this.Sniper took a big swallow from his glass to match how much Spy had drank, his throat burning at the sudden barrage of liquor.

“I haven’t met him face-to-face yet, so I dunno how bad he is, really,” Sniper said, staring down at the slightly blurry photo of Looker.The man forever trapped in the Polaroid photo sneered back at him. 

“I’m sure you will get your chance soon enough,” Spy said.“Well, I won’t keep you, Bushman.I have a feeling someone is waiting for you to return with that photo.”He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, manila folder in hand.

“Right,” Sniper said, chugging the rest of his drink before standing.  “I’ll just, er, bring this back when he’s had a look at it, shouldn’t be long…”

“Just slide it under the door when you are finished with it.No need to rush with it, I suppose.”

It was still a bit suspicious that Spy was being so generous, but Sniper did not think it wise to question it.“Thanks, mate,” he said, nodding in Spy’s direction as he opened the door.

“No worries, _mate_ ,” Spy said in an eerily spot-on Australian accent that made the hairs stand up on the back of Sniper’s neck.Sniper’s face must’ve showed his surprise, too, because Spy flashed him an evil grin as he stumbled out the door.

 

****

 

When Scout heard knocking at his hospital room door, his good leg immediately started jiggling in anticipation. _Please be Sniper please be Sniper please be Sniper—_

Nurse, who had been busying themselves with disinfecting the cabinetry, tossed a wad of paper towels into the biohazard bin and opened the door.Sniper stepped into the room and Nurse immediately made their leave, retreating back into the adjacent room to leave Scout and Sniper alone together

“Didja get it?” Scout said, every muscle in his body tense save for his juddering leg.His eyes darted to Sniper’s hands, both of which were empty.His heart sank.“Aw jeez, he didn’t give it to ya, did he?I kinda didn’t think he would, actually, ‘cause—“

But his voice died in his throat when Sniper sat down in a chair beside him and pulled a small photograph from the inside of his vest.Sniper stared down at the picture, his face looking like he was studying its contents one final time, before handing it over.

“Ya got it!” Scout said, relieved.

“I’ve got to give it back once you're finished havin’ a look at it, though,” Sniper said, handing him the Polaroid photo.  Scout yanked it out of Sniper’s hands and stared down at it. 

He looked at it for about point-two-five seconds before he identified the scowling man in the picture.He felt like he might puke.

“Goddammit,” Scout said, resisting the urge to ninja-star the photo across the room just to get it away from him.Instead of doing that, he did the opposite, roving his eyes over the photo once again.“It’s him.That’s, that’s definitely Bucky.”

“Figured he was,” Sniper said.“Don’t see many blokes wiv that sort of birthmark on their face.”

Scout shook his head and looked at the picture yet again.Bucky was different—he’d changed.A lot.

“‘Kay, in my defense, he was _not_ this gross-lookin’ when I was crushin’ on him, I swear,” Scout said, attempting humor to lighten the situation.  It wasn’t helping.

“I know,” Sniper said.

Confused, Scout flicked his eyes over to Sniper.“You _know_?”

Sniper winced.“Spy found a picture of you ’n’ Looker standing beside each other wiv the rest o’ your baseball team.Yearbook picture, or something.He showed it to me.Think that was supposed to be a secret, actually, but it’s too late for that now, I suppose.I sawr what he looked like back then, and he does look…odd.Dunno what it is, but he don’t look right, does he?”

“No,” Scout said, looking down at the picture for the umpteenth time.  “He looks like shit, like…like he _aged_ or…or I dunno, like I can’t really describe it.”  He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts, then handed the picture back to Sniper.  He was tired of looking at it.  “I’m through with this, I guess,” he said as Sniper stuck the photo back into his vest pocket.

“Whaddya think I oughta do, Snipes?” Scout asked, his voice coming out more pathetic-sounding than he would’ve liked.  “‘Cause like a big part a me wants to give him a piece a my mind, but then another part a me’s just thinkin’…let it go.  Leave him alone, and he prob’ly won’t ever see me, since I gotta stay cooped up in here all day.  I can just try and pretend he ain’t here, till he leaves.  _If_ he leaves.”

“Well…you know I’m not great at this sort of thing, but…but I suppose you could think abou’ it logically.You know.If you talk to him, what would be the likeliest thing to happen?He’d probably pummel you first ’n’ ask questions later, honestly, he’s already tried to deck Spy in the face for no good reason.If he sawr _you_ , there’s no telling what he’d do.”

“Wait, he tried to punch Spy in the face?Did he catch Spy takin’ this picture, or sum’n?”

“Spy claims he was just trying to introduce himself to the bloke, is all.Whether that’s true or not, I dunno, but that’s what he says.And you know—now that I think of it, Spy said kind of the same thing you’re sayin’, abou’ how somethin’ just seems _off_ with the bloke, like he ain’t normal.I haven’t met him personal-like yet, so I’m not sure what he’s meanin’ by that, exactly…but you say he looks weird to you, too?”

“Yeah, he looks _rough_.He mighta got into drugs, or sum’n, that might explain tryin’ to punch Spy for no reason and how come he looks like shit.”

“’S possible,” Sniper muttered, averting his eyes.He looked uncomfortable. 

“Hey, uh,” Scout started.He wasn’t sure what he was about to say, he just knew the general idea of what he wanted to get across, but he was good at talking on the fly.“I know I’m makin’ a big deal about this, but it’s like…Bucky’s just some asshole I knew in high school, is all he is.And yeah, I guess he hurt me—a lot, like a _lot_ , a lot—but that’s all this is, is me tryin’ to decide whether I wanna call him out on it and say my piece or not.What’s the word when ya, like”—he puffed out a frustrated little sigh, he hated when he couldn’t think of words—“when somebody ya used to know comes back in ya life, and ya don’t really wanna start nuttin’ with ‘em again, but ya wanna, kinda, put an end cap on it?So you’ll quit thinkin’ about ‘em?Write ‘em outta ya life once and for good?There’s a word for it, I know there is.Y’know what I’m talkin’ about?”

“Er,” Sniper said.“Maybe _closure’s_ the word you’re lookin’ for?”

“Yeah,” Scout said, nodding.“Closure, that’s exactly what I was tryin’ to say.That’s what I’m after, Snipes, and that is _all_ I’m after. _If_ I talk to him at all, which I still ain’t made up my mind about it yet.” 

Scout reached out and tried to grab Sniper’s hand, but it was just beyond his reach.The best he could do was brush the pads of his fingers against Sniper’s fingernails.He flailed his hand around, trying to get Sniper to take a damn hint.That garnered a half-smile and a grunt of amusement from the other man, which Scout was relieved to see.Sniper scooted his chair closer to Scout, allowing their hands to interlock properly.

“I ain’t tryin’ to get together with him or screw him or nuttin’ like that, I swear,” Scout said.  “For real.  Even if he did a complete one-eighty and he’s a total angel, gentleman, Mother Teresa or whatever, I don’t give a shit.  People can change, I guess, but—but old habits die hard, y’know?  I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can frickin’ throw him.  I ain’t even interested in bein’ his _friend_ no more, for real.  I just wanna…” 

He squeezed Sniper’s hand a little harder.He didn’t completely know what it was he wanted. 

“…I guess I just wanna forget about him.And it’s kinda hard to do that when I’m wonderin’ all the time why he ditched me like that.And he’s got a frickin’ _kid_ now, I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t wanna know how all that turned out.Did he marry that girl, or what happened to that?It’s just shit I wonder about and it eats at me and—“ 

Scout abruptly stopped talking, scoffing at himself.“I’m ramblin’ again, ain’t I?”

Sniper gave him a smile, a real one this time, one that crinkled his eyes beneath those yellow-tinted glasses of his.“A bit,” he said.

“If ya don’t want me to talk to him, I won’t,” Scout said, his voice softening.

Sniper gave a lazy shake of his head.“I don’t mind if you talk to him, love.”

Scout’s eyes widened as much as they possibly could, and his grin grew so large you could see the majority of his teeth.“What didja just call me?” he said with a teasing lilt to his voice, his look of utter joy starkly contrasting Sniper’s expression of horror.

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Sniper said, turning his head to stare at the wall.

“You called me _love_ ,” Scout said, jangling Sniper’s hand to try and get him to look back over at him.“I heard it.”

“It slipped out,” Sniper mumbled, trying to (literally) bite back a smile.

“Well, keep on lettin’ it slip out,” Scout said, “‘cause I like it.”

Sniper looked at him.“Long as you don’t think it’s odd, me sayin’ it, I…suppose I could, er…keep…lettin’ it slip.”He attempted an awkward half-smile.

It was then that Scout realized something.  Sniper was looking at him with genuine fondness, the likes of which Scout had never seen directed at him Ωbefore.  So, Sniper may be inexperienced in—well, any kind of social interaction, most especially romantic ones—but dammit, Snipes was _trying_.  Had Bucky ever looked at him like that?  No.  Had Bucky ever _tried_ like Sniper was trying?  No—hadn’t tried at all, in fact.  Scout had already convinced himself that Bucky was old news, but looking at Sniper now, with that crooked attempt at a grin and those cheekbones still slightly flushed in embarrassment, was the final nail in the coffin.

He took a moment to try and commit the details of Sniper’s facial expression to memory, so he could sketch it out later.His hand felt so at home cupped against Sniper’s—which kinda worried him a little bit, if he was being honest.Something so simple and kiddish as holding hands shouldn’t make him as happy as it did.

_I got it bad_ , Scout thought, awkwardly shimmying his fingers around Sniper’s to thread their fingers together. 

“I don’t think I’ll talk to Bucky,” Scout said.“What’s that sayin’? Let sleepin’ dogs lie?”

“Thought you said some o’ that stuff ate at you, though.”

“It does,” Scout said truthfully.“Sometimes.But I mean…I dunno if talkin’ to him would fix that, y’know?Might just gimme _more_ shit I can’t forget.Think I’m prob’ly better off just keepin’ away from him.”

“Take awhile to think abou’ it, maybe,” Sniper said with a slight shrug.

“Yeah,” Scout said, “I will.But y’know what I’ve been thinkin’ about here lately?”

“What’s that?”

“Ya never did tell me how old ya are,” Scout said.“Remember a couple weeks ago when I asked how old ya were, then ya said the thing about takin’ ya on a date first and wouldn’t tell me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sniper said, “I remember that.”

Scout waited for Sniper to add more to that, but Sniper never did.Scout raised his eyebrows at him expectantly.“So are ya gonna tell me, or not, here?”

“I don’t reckon you’ve taken me on a date yet, have you?” Sniper countered.

“Aw, c’mon,” Scout groaned, “just tell me.  I’ll tell ya how old _I_ am.”

“How old are you, then?”

“Nuh-uh, you first.”

Sniper blinked slowly at him, the gesture seeming to communicate exasperation.“All right.I’ll be thirty-seven in October.”

“Hey, my birthday’s in October, too, man!What date’s your birthday on?”

“Fifth.”

“Aw, no way, mine’s on the third!We can celebrate together and shit!”

“I think you missed the bit where I told you I’m _thirty-seven_ years old,” Sniper said.“That doesn’t…it doesn’t bother you?”

“Pff, nah, you’re only”—Scout used his free hand to finger-count the difference in their ages—“twelve years older than me.That ain’t that bad.”

“So that’d make you…twenty-four, then?”

“Be twenty-five October third,” Scout nodded. 

Sniper just hummed in acknowledgement, then fell silent.The age gap seemed like it bothered him.It really shouldn’t, though, because Scout didn’t even think about it ninety-nine percent of the time. 

Still, if it was something that troubled Sniper, it was something that needed to be brought up.

“I don’t care that you’re a few years older than me, y’know that, right?” Scout said, trying to make his voice sound gentle, yet not to the point where it was patronizing. 

“But wouldn’t you rather be wiv someone closer to your age?” Sniper asked.  “Someone who’s not—not—“  He barely managed to stifle a sigh.  “I dunno.  Someone who ain’t an old fuff like _me_ , anyhow.”

“You’re not _old_ ,” Scout said.“Ya ain’t even forty yet, old is like…like _sixty_ is old.Forty ain’t.And ya ain’t even forty, so ya got a long ways to go.”

“I know you’re only sayin’ all that to make me feel better,” Sniper said, “but just know that it’s workin’.”After a moment’s pause, he added:“Love.”

Scout laughed, giving Sniper’s hand another squeeze.It was strange, in a way.His leg was busted up, Bucky was literally in the same building as him, who knew if he’d get to keep his job or not, who knew if he’d get to put _weight_ on that leg again or not—but he had a funny feeling that the decrepit old geezer currently clasping his hand wouldn’t like him any less if he had to hobble around on a crutch for the rest of his life.The thought of his leg being permanently damaged was horrifying, for sure, but one look over at Sniper did so much to calm him down. 

And then yet another thought occurred to him:

They needed each other, didn’t they?

Scout would have to ponder that later, after Sniper had left and his bedroom light had been turned out for the night.For now, he just wanted to enjoy the man’s company. 

It sounded simple, and it was simple.Even though everything else around him was a complicated, stressful mess, this very moment was not. 

Sometimes simple was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is nearly twice as long as the last one, I know, but there wasn't really a good place to stop that would've made sense. I had to make it longer to cram everything in there.
> 
> Sniper's consumption of hard liquor gave him a little case of loose lips. He really hadn't meant to call Scout 'love,' but it's too late now...
> 
> And Scout might have decided not to talk to Bucky, but will he change his mind? Or will Bucky discover Scout's existence and make his way to the hospital room to talk to him anyway? Who knows?? 
> 
> Oh, if you're curious about what Sniper and Spy were drinking, it was cognac. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick trigger warning for this chapter, which I decided to put at the beginning because I don't think it'll really spoil anything: this chapter has some homophobic language in it, as well as a character displaying feelings of internalized homophobia.

Tomorrow would begin RED team’s tenure at a new location, a place they’d never been to before called Landfall.Sniper was actually pretty glad they weren’t going back to Dustbowl for awhile; maybe a change of location would help them break their losing streak.

The majority of the blame for their consistent losses fell on Looker-slash-Bucky’s shoulders.That was not merely Sniper’s opinion, but indisputable fact.Granted, nobody was ace at their jobs during the first week, but Looker was horrendous.Almost laughably so, had his idiocy not caused Sniper to die time after time after time, each demise more creatively painful than the last.Looker had a penchant for leading either the BLU pyro or the BLU soldier straight to Sniper’s nest, which inevitably meant getting burnt to a crisp or blown to bits.Neither of those options were very enjoyable.

Looker aside, the rest of the team needed to be prepared for tomorrow’s change of venue, so Engineer had called a team meeting.Team meetings were par for the course when they switched locations, so the nine of them could pore over area maps and come up with battle strategies. 

They were all seated around the poker table in the rec room.Even though the air conditioner was running full-blast and made the room feel like a walk-in freezer, Sniper’s brow was damp with a nervous sweat.You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.Everyone was restless and fidgety as they waited for Looker—the only member of the team not present—to show up.

“Alrighty, lads,” Demoman said, breaking the silence, “I think we all know that scabby numpty ain’t comin’, let’s just start without him.” 

Directly to Sniper’s right, Pyro nodded enthusiastically, adding, “Rrh grrdrh grr frrd mrr krrdrh-krrt.”Sniper wasn’t sure, but he thought Pyro might’ve said something about a kitty-cat. _Feed_ the kitty-cat, maybe?(Least that meant Pyro was taking good care of that scruffy orange thing he and Scout had rescued.)He half-expected to hear Scout’s piercing voice pipe up, translating on Pyro’s behalf like he always did at the team meetings, but Scout wasn’t here.

Of course he wasn’t here.

“Come again, Ashes?” Engineer asked, his elbows resting on the felted surface of the poker table and his chin perched in his hands.

Sniper heard a slight sigh and what sounded an awful lot like a little whimper coming from underneath Pyro’s mask.Ah, piss. 

“He, er,” Sniper said, wincing inwardly as seven heads pivoted to stare directly at him.He resisted the urge to rake his fingernails across his wrist.“He said he’s gotta go ’n’…feed his cat.”He looked to Pyro.“Yeah?”

“Yrrh!” Pyro said, patting Sniper on the arm with a thickly-gloved hand.Sniper offered him a crooked half-smile in return.

Engineer smiled warmly.“Well, we better not keep Poncho, or whatever his lil name is, waitin’ any longer’n we have to—“

“Rmrrgrhh,” Pyro interjected.

“Oh, pard’n me,” Engineer said, “Amigo, then.Anyhow.I’m tired of waitin’ on Looker, we gave him, what, an extra half-hour to get here?”

To Sniper’s left, Spy pulled back the sleeve of his suit jacket, revealing at least five different designer wristwatches strapped to his arm.“Forty-one minutes, actually.”

“Good Lord,” Engineer said with a shake of his head.“That’s plenty of time for him to get here.Let’s start without him, don’tcha think?”

“Da.”

“Ja.”

“Aye.”

“AFFIRMATIVE!”

“Yrrh!”

“Yes, please.”

Sniper felt like he was the only one who hadn’t voiced a vote.“…Yeah,” he mumbled.

“The ayes have it,” Engineer said, cracking his knuckles and smoothing an area map across the table.“Let’s have a lookit what Landfall’s got to offer, here…”

Sniper joined the seven others in looming over the map, listening intently as Engineer began to form the tentative beginnings of a game plan for tomorrow’s fight.They were not taking Looker into consideration when they made their plans.And since Scout was in hospital, and his replacement wasn’t worth a hill of beans, they were trying to devise a way to use Spy and Medic in tandem to sneak past enemy lines and grab the intelligence.Not only had it been awhile since they’d done a ‘grab the intelligence’ mission, they were having to do it without the best-suited team member for the job. 

Sniper didn’t imagine their losing streak would be broken any time soon, after all.

Piss.

 

****

 

“Huh,” Scout said.“Snipes is usually here by now.Kinda…kinda weird.”

Scout was talking to himself, he guessed.Nurse was in the room, but they were fast asleep in their chair, sitting straight up and everything.Must’ve had a rough night or something.He wouldn’t wake them unless he needed something, which, now that he could get in and out of bed by himself (with a lot of grunting and groaning and the occasional teardrop leaking from his eyes), wasn’t often.He only really bothered Nurse if he needed something to eat or drink, since he wasn’t yet permitted to leave his hospital room to go to the kitchen.He’d let them sleep, why the hell not?

He kinda _would_ like someone to talk to, though.Nurse didn’t ever say anything in reply, but they would sometimes use body language to get a simple point across.That was better than nothing.

Hopefully Sniper would hurry up and get here—he usually had some good stories from the workday to tell.Scout never thought he’d be one of those “hi honey how was your day” types of people, but when you were this crazy about somebody, you apparently cared about mundane little things like that.

Maybe Sniper went to the grocery store, or something?(Well, Sniper called it the “market,” but whatever.)Nah, that probably wasn’t it—Sniper saved his shopping day for Thursday night.It was only Wednesday.He could’ve run out of something, maybe, something that couldn’t wait another day to buy.Coffee filters or something.That was a possibility, Scout guessed.

Maybe Sniper had to work overtime today?That didn’t happen real often, but it _did_ happen.

Maybe Sniper didn’t feel so hot?One of those twenty-four hour colds, or something?And he didn’t want Scout to catch whatever it was he had?

Maybe Sniper hated his frickin’ guts and never wanted to see him again and would never ever ever come back?Scout had been too pushy with him, hadn’t he?Okay, so maybe quick pecks and handholding weren’t exactly pushy by a lot of people’s standards, but Sniper was different.Maybe all this was going too fast for him and he wanted to back off for awhile and that’s why he hadn’t showed up and—

—Wait.

Stop.

Deep breath.

Being in this hospital room for so long was making Scout really paranoid about stuff like that.Like everybody hated him, like they were never gonna talk to him again.Even under normal circumstances, he had the tendency to overreact about pretty much everything, but now that he was trapped inside a single room all day long, it was twice as bad.

Sniper was probably just running late, that’s all.

And hell, Sniper was a grown-ass man.Scout didn’t own him.He didn’t _have_ to come and see Scout every single day that rolled around.

So if he didn’t show up at all, it would be okay.

Hopefully he _would_ show up, though.

As if it might make Sniper show up even faster, Scout wheeled his way over to the door and unlocked it.Besides, there was a decent chance that Scout himself could nod off sitting up in his chair—he had kinda poked fun at Nurse for doing that, but he’d done it himself on more than one occasion.If it turned out that no one was awake to let Sniper in, Sniper could just open the door himself.

Scout looked up at the clock again.Six thirty-something.He didn’t really know what to do with himself, since nothing was seeming to hold his interest right now, but he didn’t want to just sit there.He took up his drawing pad and a pencil and flipped to a clean page.He didn’t figure he’d be able to concentrate on it for long (or at all) but he needed something to occupy his mind.

Otherwise he was gonna go crazy with “Sniper-hates-my-frickin’-guts” ideas.

He started sketching a circle.When he didn’t have anything in particular that he wanted to draw, penciling in a circle was always a good way to start—most stuff had a circular shape in it, in some way.But of course, that circle turned into a face, which may or may not have been Sniper’s face…

Once again, the phrase _I got it bad_ came to mind as he tried to give Sniper’s eyes a particularly smoldering look.He yawned.Maybe he really _would_ fall asleep sitting up. _Snipes better hurry up and get here_ , he thought grumpily, gnawing on a loose sliver of skin hanging from his lip as he sketched.

 

****

 

“Mother _FUCKER_ —!”

Bucky couldn’t find the key to his bedroom door.He knew, he fuckin’ _knew_ he put it in his pocket this morning, where else could he have put it?And now it was just gone.Nowhere to be found.Vanished. 

He growled through gritted teeth and kicked his bedroom door over and over and over again.It barely even budged.He pummeled his fists against it till they went almost completely numb.It barely even budged.He twisted the door handle left and right, left and right, left and right as he threw his whole body against the (apparently very sturdy) wood.

It barely even budged.

Time was ticking; he could physically feel his time running out, like a histamine itch.He needed to get in his room to get his wallet, and once he had his wallet he needed to haul his ass down to that seedy little bar on the edge of town.He forgot the name of it, but he’d know it when he drove by it.He’d snorted all his coke more than two hours ago and he needed to buy some more.Also he needed to ask around, see if there was a head shop anywhere close.(He doubted it—this town didn’t have shit.)Somewhere between Boston and Teufort he’d lost his favorite little spoon, the one with the tiny naked lady engraved into the handle.In lieu of the spoon, he’d been using a rolled-up dollar bill.It was not the same.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

When the door wouldn’t open,Bucky howled in anger.He kicked the door a final time and stomped away from it, hands balled into fists at his sides.He wouldn’t be getting that door open with just his body, he’d have to admit that now.He needed something to use as a battering ram.That, or he could find one of the other assholes who lived in this dump and tell them that he’d lost his key—maybe they’d know what to do about it.Though he doubted any of them would actually help him.Assholes, remember?

He charged down the hall and jiggled the handle of the first door he came to.Locked.He stormed over to the door across from that one and tried it.Locked.He went from left to right over and over again, working his way down the hall.None of these _fucking_ doors were _fucking UNLOCKED_ —

Until he got nearly to the end of the hall, when he found one that yielded to him.

He flung the door open and stomped inside.Battering ram, battering ram, what could he use for a—

“Bucky?”

He froze.

He knew that voice.

His head swiveled to the source of the meek little sound—a small man sitting in a wheelchair beside a hospital bed, his leg encased in some kind of metal thing and jutting straight out in front of him.

“Kenicky,” he said, eyes narrowed.This didn’t make sense.What the hell was Kenicky doing here?Why were his eyes so wide, why was he looking at him like that, why the _FUCK_ was he _LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THAT_?

Suddenly Bucky forgot all about looking for something to bust his door down with.He’d always hoped he’d see this little bastard again.He had a thing or two he wanted to get off his chest.

Sneering, he took a step closer to his former best friend.

 

****

 

Scout heard the doorknob jiggle and he nearly had a heart attack.Frickin’ _finally._ It was past seven-thirty already, it was about time Sniper got here.Nurse had already gone home for the evening, leaving Scout all by his lonesome, and the silent solitude was starting to wig him out.

Sniper was so eager to get in the door that he didn’t even knock, he just flung the door open.

Only, the person who stormed into the room wasn't Sniper at all.

Oh.

Oh _shit_.

This—this wasn’t actually _happening_ , was it?Wait, waitwait, maybe he fell asleep in his chair again, or something.He reached over and pinched himself, hard.Ow.Okay, so he was definitely awake and this was happening and Bucky was standing there just staring at him with freaky-looking hollow eyes.

Scout thought he’d be angry if he ever saw Bucky again.And he _was_ angry, but there was an even stronger emotion winning out, here—fear.Why was he so scared all of a sudden?Maybe it was the fact that he never really thought this moment would ever happen, and now it was?Maybe because he’d already made up his mind not to talk to Bucky, and here Bucky was literally barging into his room?He’d imagined this moment in his head a million times, had thought of exactly what he wanted to tell this asshole.But now that the moment was actually happening, he’d forgotten every word of the little speech he’d prepared in his mind.He kind of wanted to vomit, actually.

He couldn’t stand the way Bucky was looking at him with those crazy eyes of his.Scout had to say something to break this horrid silence between the two of them.

“Bucky?” he squeaked, his voice coming out brittle and weak.He wanted to punch himself in the face for how bad it sounded. _Shit_.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, actually _narrowed his eyes_.How dare he.If anybody should be narrowing their eyes, here, it should be Scout.

“Kenicky,” Bucky said.

Scout’s insides churned.The only people who still called him that were his Ma and his brothers.He sure as shit didn’t want Bucky using his real name.That name was _reserved_.Special use only.

He still couldn’t shake the fearful feeling, but the anger was coming out now.Good.He needed to feel it, if he was gonna make it through this undoubtedly horrendous conversation without crumpling into himself.He opened his mouth to fire off a retort, but the words never quite made it out of his mouth.Bucky was making this weird face at him and stomping toward him with a very determined look in his eye.

Didn’t Sniper say that Bucky had thrown a punch at Spy for pretty much no reason?Hadn’t he said that Bucky was…weird, somehow?It definitely seemed that way.And here Scout was, in a wheelchair, his entire left leg in a brace, with nothing to defend himself with.Nothing but the pencil in his hand.Instinctively, he curled his fist around that pencil, just in case he needed to use it as an impromptu weapon.

“You,” Bucky growled, pointing a shaking finger in Scout’s face.Scout grimaced at the dirt under those fingernails and wheeled himself backward. 

“Get ya frickin’ hand outta my face,” Scout spat.In a way, he knew he shouldn’t be provoking this clearly unstable man that used to be a friend named Bucky, but he couldn’t hold his tongue.

But Bucky only stepped closer.Scout gripped the pencil a little tighter, the hairs on his arms prickling like they did when he thought he sensed an enemy spy creeping around him on the battlefield.All his senses were on red-alert, his body poised to strike.

“Me and you are gonna have a little talk,” Bucky said, craning his head down to stare into Scout’s eyes, his head jerking a little as he did so.

“What the hell are you _on_ , man?” Scout asked.“Ya look like shit, ya don’t even look like the same _guy_ , you’re standin’ there jerkin’ like a—“

Then it dawned on him.The black-ringed, hollow-looking eyes.The twitching.The unpredictable anger.And now that Scout knew to look, he could see festering sores up and down Bucky’s arms.

“You’re snortin’ coke,” he said.It wasn’t a question.He’d been around plenty of junkies back before he, himself got clean.He knew what a cokehead looked like.

“Yeah,” Bucky spat.“Yeah, yeah, I am.And do you know whose fault that is, huh? _HUH_?”

Scout winced at Bucky’s sudden rise in volume, but he kept quiet as the man finished his tirade.

“It’s _your_ fault, Kenicky, it’s all _YOUR FAULT!_ ”

Scout stared at him incredulously.“ _My_ fault?” Scout retorted.“How the hell’s it _my_ fault?”

_“BECAUSE YOU RUINED ME!”_

Bucky had screamed at him with so much force, flecks of his spit landed on Scout’s face.Calmly, Scout reached up and wiped the offending substance from his cheek.He was going to take a page from Sniper’s book, here.Scout didn’t care to argue, but he detested yelling.Ma’s lightswitch boyfriends used to yell at him and his brothers constantly, and he’d grown to tolerate the sound of yelling less and less over the years.He really had to watch himself to not exhibit the same behavior when it came to situations like this, though—yelling was the first thing that popped into his mind.

But he didn’t want to stoop to Bucky’s level.Not anymore, he didn’t. 

Be calm.Be patient.Be like Snipes.

He took a deep breath.When he spoke next, his voice was level and controlled.

“I ruined you?Explain that to me, I’d love to hear how _I_ ruined _you_.”

Bucky’s hands curled into claws, and for a second, Scout thought he was about to get pounced on.But Bucky made no other sudden movements, save for sucking in a breath through his teeth.

“Don’t play fuckin’ dumb, Kenicky, you know what you did.”

Scout shook his head dramatically.“For real, I don’t.You’re the one who just quit talkin’ to me after ya kissed me that night, I didn’t do shit.That’s all on you, man, I didn’t—“

“That!That right there, that— _that_ —! _You turned me into a fuckin’ queer_!”

Scout actually laughed at that, which caused Bucky’s face to contort into something demonic.What was that German word Doc always used to describe getting a kick out of somebody else’s anguish?Shodden-froyduh, something like that?

“I didn’t turn ya queer,” Scout said, smiling sweetly.“ _You_ kissed _me_ , if I’m rememberin’ correctly, here.”

Bucky flung his arm across the table at Scout’s side, sending Scout’s sketchbook and all manner of art supplies flying across the room.Glass bottles of ink exploded in a burst of color and glass when they connected with the hard tile floor.His drawing pad was ruined.

“What the hell was that for?!” Scout said, flinging his arms into the air.His voice had elevated to an accusatory whine, but he wouldn’t quite call it yelling.Yet. 

“You ruined me,” Bucky repeated, his chest heaving now.“Always lookin’ at me like you did.Brushin’ up against me.Givin’ me all your good baseball cards.Stayin’ late after practice to help me work on my pitchin’.Walkin’ me home after. _Flirtin’_ with me, all the fuckin’ time you flirted with me, Jesus, I couldn’t take it no more.I tried—I tried girls, I—I fucked a girl and got her _pregnant_ , Kenicky, I tried—! _I got a kid out there somewhere!_ ”

That was a lot for Scout to take in at once, but the thing that stuck out at him the most was that last part.“Ya don’t know where your own _kid_ is?” he asked, with something almost like concern.

“Do I _look_ like I’m ready to be some rugrat’s fuckin’ _dad_ , Kenicky?I wasn’t ready then and I _really_ ain’t now, I—I-I can’t believe you, sittin’ there actin’ all innocent, none a this woulda happened if you woulda just left me the _FUCK_ alone.”

Scout was feeling an emotion he didn’t think he ever would when confronting Bucky.He hadn’t planned on it, but he was feeling…pity.

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” he said simply.“You never talked to me after that night ya kissed me ‘cause…’cause ya think _I’m_ the one that made ya like dudes.”

“You _are_ the one that made me a fuckin’ fruit!” Bucky roared.“I didn’t look at no other man like—like _that_ before I met you. _You’re_ the one who caused all’a this, _ALL’A THIS!_ And look at you, sittin’ there with some smug fuckin’ look on your face.You _still_ don’t think it’s your fault!”

“That’s cause it ain’t!” Scout said.“I didn’t think I liked dudes before I met you, neither, but I ain’t blamin’ _you_ for the way I am!‘Kay, so maybe you made me _realize_ a couple things about myself, but _you_ didn’t make me like dudes—“

But Scout’s sentence was cut short by the sight of Bucky lunging toward him, teeth bared and hands gnarled like a wild animal.Scout’s hands flew to the wheels of his chair as he propelled himself backward, but as he did so, Bucky’s face began to change.The man’s look of rage morphed into a wide-eyed expression of shock.Bucky let out a blood-curdling scream and crumpled to the ground, the life quickly leaving his eyes.A neat little stab wound pierced his back, the cotton of his tee shirt trying in vain to soak up all the blood gushing freely from the inch-wide incision. 

Backstab.

As soon as Bucky’s physical form began to dissolve, whisking away to the respawn chamber in a cloudy red mist, Spy decloaked himself.  He bent down and wiped the blade of his butterfly knife on the leg of Bucky’s jeans before the corpse fully dissipated, then flicked the knife closed and slid it back up into his suit sleeve.

“Forgive me for intruding,” Spy said simply.“But I heard a…”His eyes drifted over to the mess of ink and glass on the floor.“…Commotion.And I decided to investigate.”

All of this was happening so fast.Scout felt trapped in his chair—he basically _was_ trapped in his chair.His good leg bounced up and down as fast as it could possibly go.“He just barged in on me, I dunno where he came from, like I guess it’s maybe ten percent my fault cause I unlocked the door but I thought Sniper’d be here soon so I undid the lock but I didn’t think _he’d_ come runnin’ in here screamin’ and tweakin’ like that, and I guess it’s also sorta my fault he went all crazy cause I shoulda known not to talk to him and provoke him like that but I couldn’t help it and—“

He was babbling again.Spy didn’t give a shit about any of that, anyway.He abruptly shut his mouth and puffed out a sigh.“Anyway, uh.Thanks.For that.If he woulda jumped on me, he woulda prob’ly screwed up my bum leg more than it already is.So I guess this means I owe ya one, Frenchie.”

“Oh, no,” Spy said with a tight-lipped grin.“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.I have been wanting to do that since the day I became acquainted with Looker.”

“Yeah, Sniper’s been tellin’ me all these horror stories about him,” Scout said.  “Hey, speakin’ of—you ain’t seen Sniper anywhere, have ya?  He kinda, uh…well, he comes in here to shoot the shit with me sometimes, and he hasn’t showed up today, so…”

“We had an impromptu team meeting this afternoon,” Spy explained.“I’m sure your boyfriend will be along any minute now.”

Scout’s mouth fell open.Spy merely chuckled at the sight.

“Don’t worry,” Spy said, “your little secret is safe with me.When it comes to matters of the heart, my lips are sealed.”

Scout gave him a deadpan look.“Sum’n tells me I _miiiight_ not be able to trust ya on that.”

Spy chuckled again—even his laugh was distinctly French-sounding.“I suppose you had better stay on my good side, non?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scout said, flapping a hand at Spy as he wheeled himself over to the mess on the floor.“Now get the hell outta here unless you’re gonna help me clean this crap up, I gotta make this place look nice before my _boyfriend_ gets here.”

“I believe it’s a bit late for that.”

Scout snapped his head up to look at Spy.“Huh?”

But Spy was already gone, disappearing in a wisp of reddish smoke.Not a second after Spy made his leave, Sniper walked through the open doorway.

“I know I’m late, but I’ve got a good—“

Sniper’s voice died in his throat as he eyed the mess on the floor and Scout bent over it, trying in vain to reach it to clean some of it up.He hurried over to Scout’s side, a look of concern on his face.

“Bloody hell,” he said.“What happened here?”

Scout stared up at him for a minute, just so— _so_ relieved to see gangly legs and spindly arms and pianist’s fingers and tummy paunch and rugged stubble and gray-blue eyes and—

Scout laughed—he had to.What the hell else could he do in this kind of situation?

He grinned up at Sniper. 

“It’s a long frickin’ story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we finally make it to the confrontation. Scout didn't exactly wanna do it, but he didn't have a lot of choice in the matter.
> 
> (The German word Scout was trying to think of was schadenfreude, by the way.)
> 
> This is probably obvious, but this story takes place in the early 70s--1973, to be exact (the TF2 comic started in '68, and I think the most recent comic that came out takes place in '71, so I wanted this story to take place a couple years after that). Cocaine was really hitting its prime during that time, like there were shameless magazine ads that sold all sorts of paraphernalia (Google "70s cocaine ads" and you'll see what I mean). I'm not the drugs expert, but my cursory research leads me to believe that cocaine was a pretty popular thing until about the mid-80s. It wouldn't be surprising, then, for it to be Bucky's drug of choice.
> 
> Another angsty chapter, I know, but I'm gonna try and make the next chapter a lil happier.


	17. Chapter 17

Today was the day.

_Piss_ , Sniper thought as he glanced at his wristwatch, _I’m later than I thought I was_.The clacking of his boots echoed down the long hallway as he quickened his pace.

The door to Scout’s hospital room was already open, so he slipped inside without knocking.Engineer had beaten him here, the glove usually concealing the man’s robotic hand slung over his shoulder.Doc was there already, as well, but that was to be expected.When Sniper stepped into the room, all eyes turned to him, and he knew at once they’d been standing around waiting for him to arrive.A feeling of guilt welled in his stomach at the sight of them. 

He’d hurried here as fast as he could, but Hoots, his owl, kept flying round his head and nipping him in the ears on his walk over.He didn’t have the heart to shout at his beloved pet to leave him be, so he’d had to hunt down a suitably-sized stick and toss it a few times for the bird to fetch.He had a hard time saying no to animals—even if Scout _was_ getting his leg brace removed today.

“‘Bout time ya showed up,” Scout said, pap-pap-papping his hands against the mattress.“Now let’s get this frickin’ thing offa me.”

“Well hello to you, too, gremlin,” Sniper said, grinning down at the man in the hospital bed who was practically vibrating with excitement. 

“He wouldn’t let us start withoutcha, Slim,” Engineer grinned, gripping one of the brace’s thick bolts between his robotic thumb and forefinger.He twisted it off like it was nothing, tossing it into a garbage can sitting by his boot.

“‘Cause I didn’t want ya to miss it,” Scout said, staring up at Sniper with eyes that were practically glittering.“It’s gonna be so frickin’ gross under there.I haven’t been able to wash that leg in more than a _month_.”

Sniper muttered a little noise of disgust, but that only seemed to make Scout happier.Then again, Sniper doubted anything would ruin Scout’s mood today, because one:he was getting his leg brace off, and that was obviously a good thing.Two:it was Saturday morning, and that meant Sniper had no prior engagements other than to stick around and keep him company.And three:Bucky had quit last night.He’d packed his stuff up and was gone just as dawn broke that Saturday morning.Sniper watched him go from the roof of his Winnie.Bucky sped off in a banged-up Buick, bald tires stirring up a cloud of red desert dust in his wake.Good riddance.

Engineer made short work of all the bolts keeping the brace together, tossing them into the trash can as he went.When the final bolt was unscrewed, his hand lingered over the top half of the brace as he flashed a lopsided grin at Scout.

“Ready for the big reveal?” Engineer asked.Sniper thought he saw the man quirking an eyebrow, but it was hard to tell with those thick goggles he wore.

Scout looked like he was about to explode.“C’mon, man, get this thing offa me already,” he whined.

“Alright, Skeeter, hold your horses,” Engineer said.“I gotta do this careful-like, so _don’t_. _Move._ Repeat that.”

“Repeat what?” Scout said, frowning.He’d been staring down at his leg with determination, not hearing a single word Engineer had just said to him.

“Exactly,” Engineer said with a slight shake of his head, though he couldn’t help but smile a little.“Look, this thing’s real heavy and it’s got a couple sharp edges on it, so don’t go movin’ that leg around till I get this top half lifted off.Be still.”

“Don’t move,” Scout nodded.“Got it.”

Carefully, Engineer pried off the top portion of the brace and leaned it against the bedside for the time being.Scout’s left leg was shrunken from lack of use, the skin several shades lighter than the rest of his body.

And then there was the smell.

“Good Lord,” Engineer said, nose crinkling.“Smells like a damn corpse.”

Even though Sniper was a good four feet away from Scout’s leg, the smell wafted to his nose, too.It _was_ a fairly corpselike smell, but it was more akin to soured sweat and festering body odor.

“Yeah, that smells just like it did when I got my first cast took off,” Scout said, looking quite pleased about that revelation.“My leg was all toothpicky like that, too.”

“Don’t move your leg just yet, liebchen,” Medic said.Instead of his standard white medical coat, he was wearing his typical weekend garb—a knitted sweater vest and a white collared shirt—though he still wore a set of elbow-length rubber gloves.“Let’s get the other part of that brace off of you first.”

With gentle, steady hands, Medic lifted Scout’s leg from the brace like he might pick up a newborn child.It was waxy-looking and _so_ bony; Sniper honestly thought there’d be no way the man would be able to move it at all, he’d lost so much muscle tone in it.While Medic held the leg aloft, Engineer slid the bottom half of the brace off the bed, giving the doctor room to work.

Scout sighed, fluttering his eyelashes dreamily.“God, you dunno how good it feels to get outta that thing.”

“I can imagine,” Sniper said, actually having to stop himself from reaching a hand out to card it through Scout’s hair.There was no way he could do that in present company.(Well.Sniper had a hunch Doc wouldn’t mind him showing affection to another man, but he wasn’t so sure how Truckie would feel about it).Even if he could do it without suffering any backlash, he’d be too embarrassed to.

Sniper wondered if Scout had seen himself in a mirror lately.He’d probably rush to the salon to get a trim as soon as he could, but Sniper thought the man’s hair looked right nice, all shaggy like that.He’d have never known otherwise, but once Scout’s hair had a bit of length to it, it had quite a lot of natural wave.It was nearly past his earlobes now. 

“Hmm,” Medic said, bending Scout’s leg at the knee and straightening it back out again.Scout’s face appeared to be a mixture of relief and moderate discomfort.“There’s a bit more muscle atrophy than what I expected…”

“Is that bad?” Scout asked, hissing as Medic bent his foot forward and backward, then rolled his ankle.

“All things considered, it’s not so bad,” Medic said.“Most likely, you will have to undergo more physical therapy to get your muscles back where they need to be, but it’s nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” 

Medic laid Scout’s leg back down on the mattress and retrieved what looked to Sniper like your average sewing needle from an instrument table.“Now for the not-so-fun part.”

“You’re gonna poke me with that needle, aren’tcha?” Scout grimaced.

“Several times,” Medic beamed.

Scout groaned and threw his forearm over his eyes.Poor gremlin just couldn’t catch a break, could he?

 

****

 

At least the poor gremlin didn’t have any nerve damage, which was what all the needle-poking had been testing for.Scout was out of bed and standing fully upright—or as upright as possible, anyway—hobbling around on his good leg and a crutch tucked under his left armpit.Sniper knew the man would be getting his leg brace taken off that day, but he had no clue Scout would be up and mobile so soon.Personally, Sniper thought putting all that stress on the leg right out of the starting gate couldn’t possibly be good, but once again, Medic told him he worried too much.Getting up and out of bed after being stuck in a room for so long would be good for Scout.

Scout made his way into the main hallway, took a deep breath, and exhaled noisily.“I am _so_ glad to be outta that frickin’ room, Snipes.I was goin’ crazy in there, for real.”

Sniper’s arms were laden down with Scout’s art supplies (what of them had survived Bucky’s fateful outburst a few weeks ago) and a few other bits and bobs.Scout was finally able to move out of the hospital room and back into his own bedroom, but he couldn’t carry much with one arm, of course.Not that Sniper was permitting him to carry _anything_ , mind—he was too paranoid that Scout would fall over and hurt himself.Sniper was perfectly content to do the carrying.

The key to Scout’s room was on top of the pile Sniper was carrying.Scout grabbed the key (which was attached to a dingy Red Sox lanyard, no surprise there) and unlocked the door.

“So here’s what I’m thinkin’,” Scout said as he walked inside and popped the light on.The room looked empty without the turntable and records and art books.Sniper would have to make another few trips back to the hospital room to fetch it all, but that would come in due time.He sat his current armload down on the bed for the time being.

His arms free, he turned his attention back to Scout, only to find that a mischievous look had donned Scout’s face.Sniper wasn’t so sure if that look was a good thing or a bad thing.

Sniper took the bait.“What’re you thinkin’?” he asked, prompting Scout to elaborate.

“Now before ya say no, just hear me out,” Scout began. 

Oh, hell.What sort of idea had he cooked up already?He worked fast, he did—hadn’t been out of hospital for five minutes and he’d already come up with some sort of scheme.That was worrisome—in a way. 

But mostly, it was maddeningly endearing.

“Go on,” Sniper said carefully.

“So, clearly, I need a shower,” Scout said, gesturing to left leg which hadn’t been washed in over a month.“So I’m gonna do that real quick.”

Sounded safe so far.“Okay.”

“And then when I get outta there, I put on some clothes…”

Also acceptable.“Okay…”

“And then, we take my car—with you drivin’, obviously—and we drive on over to Threeview and go to that bookstore!Remember the bookstore, the Yellow Lemon?The one I toldja about awhile back at the Waffle House?The one with the coffee place in there?The one I said you’d like, y’know?We can go there!It can be like our first date, kinda!Or—or yeah, it would be our actual first date, I guess, technically!”

The look of joy on his face was downright adorable, if Sniper did say so himself.He hated to break Scout’s little heart, but…

“But your leg,” he said simply.

“I got a crutch now, I’m good,” Scout said, balancing himself on one leg to point the crutch in Sniper’s direction.“Totally good.I can walk.”

“But you’ve just spent over a month in hospital, love,” Sniper attempted again.“You really oughter take it easy for a bit, don’t you think?”

“I been takin’ it easy for a month, though,” Scout said, his right shoulder slumping and his lower lip protruding.Ah, piss.The lower lip.One of Sniper’s few weaknesses.“You saw me walkin’ in the hall, I got energy, I’m good!And if I get tired there’s a buncha places in there to sit down at.That’s like half the point of the place, you’re supposed to buy sum’n and sit down and drink coffee and read and shit.I won’t overdo it, I swear, if I start to feel weird or sum’n I’ll tell ya.”

A tiny sigh managed to slip from Sniper’s nostrils.Maybe Scout didn’t hear it.He scratched at the side of his face, trying to think.“I dunno…”

“C’mon,” Scout said, maneuvering his way over to Sniper, nearly closing the gap between their two bodies.Only a few inches of space remained between their chests.He looked up at Sniper with those blue, blue eyes of his, and Sniper knew he was done for if he said—

“Please?”

_Bugger_.

Part of Sniper still thought Scout tromping off-base was a bad idea, but then again, it wasn’t like Scout had been recovering from some sort of illness; he’d been perfectly healthy, aside from the leg.And he wouldn’t be _walking_ on his bad leg, anyhow, he had the crutch.If he overdid it and tuckered himself out (which was likely), they could sit down, have a coffee, and rest awhile.

And Sniper would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about what that bookstore looked like.

“Okay,” Sniper said, smiling down at Scout.Short little thing wasn’t he?Well, maybe Sniper was just tall.Or it was a combination of both.

“Yes,” Scout hissed victoriously.He brushed his lips against Sniper’s, a quick and fleeting thing Sniper nearly missed entirely, before moving past him and sliding his closet door open with the toe of his shoe. 

“What to wear, what to wear,” Scout thought aloud, sorting through his clothes.“Should I wear the red shirt, or the _red_ shirt?”

Scout picked out his clothes and headed into the jack-and-jill bathroom connected to his bedroom to have his shower.While he was doing that, Sniper went to the hospital room and back, grabbing Scout’s things and moving them back into the bedroom.He couldn’t exactly remember where everything was supposed to go, but he thought he did a passing job. 

Scout was singing extra loudly in the shower.Sniper recognized the tune, but he didn’t know who it was by; it was the song about how going downtown would make you forget all your troubles, forget all your cares, where all the lights are bright, waiting for you tonight.He wondered if the loud singing was for his benefit, or if Scout did that every time he showered.Probably the latter.

When he emerged from the bathroom, a cloud of steam puffed out with him, filling the room with the scent of soap and shampoo.It was obvious he’d tried to shape his hair into some kind of style, but had given up on it.As he grabbed his keys and wallet from the nightstand, shoving the wallet into his pocket and handing the keys to Sniper, his hand flew up to the side of his head and tried to smooth down the unruly strands.

“Why didn’tcha tell me my hair looked this bad?” Scout asked as they left his room and headed down the hallway to the garage. 

“I don’t think it looks bad,” Sniper said honestly.

“Ya don’t think it’s too long?” 

“It ain’t even past your ears, ‘course it ain’t too long.”

Scout’s hand fluttered up to smooth his hair down again.“Well I _have_ kinda been wantin’ to grow it out a little.Not like a ponytail or nuttin’, just kinda…little longer than usual.”

Sniper mumbled something in response to that, but Scout didn’t hear him.

“Huh?”

“I said I think it looks nice, I think…think it makes y’look a bit like James Dean.”

Scout whipped his head around so fast and had such a look of surprise on his face that Sniper had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling. 

“James Dean was smokin’ hot,” Scout said, the surprise on his face changing into amused joy.“Ya think I’m smokin’ hot, Snipes?”

“Reckon so,” Sniper muttered, unable to hide his smile any longer.

“Huh, whassat?Couldn’t hear ya, maybe say that a little louder?”Scout jabbed at him teasingly with a forefinger.

“I said y’look like your mum thumped you on the head wiv an ugly stick,” Sniper retorted, which earned him a not-so-gentle punch in the arm.

“Least my ma’s a real person, _your_ ma’s prob’ly a frickin’ kangaroo or sum’n!”

“My mum was a lovely woman, thanks!”

“Yeah, my ma’s pretty hot, too, that’s why I dunno if I want ya to meet her.Ya might dump my ass and shack up with her.”

“Don’t much figure I want _you_ for a stepson.”

“Awright, bringin’ my ma into this was a mistake, I realize that now,” Scout grimaced.“I don’t even wanna think about ya bein’ my frickin’ dad, I’m gonna throw up over here.”

By that time, they’d reached the garage.Sniper pushed the button on the wall that opened the garage door and the two of them made their way over to Scout’s Mustang.

“Need help?” Sniper said as Scout opened the passenger door, though he already knew what the answer to that was going to be.

“Nah, I’m good, I got this,” Scout said, propping his crutch against the side of the car and monkey-swinging his way inside.He looked up at Sniper, grinning triumphantly.“Check that shit out.”

_He’s gonna faff around ’n’ hurt himself_ , Sniper thought, but he didn’t voice that opinion aloud. 

“Impressive,” he said instead, going round to the driver’s side of the car.

 

****

 

Threeview was a much further drive than Sniper had imagined it to be.They’d been driving for nearly thirty minutes.The radio was on, “Sunshine of Your Love” burbling through the speakers.Scout was being quiet, which was downright eerie.Maybe his leg felt worse than he was letting on.Time and time again, Sniper opened his mouth to ask what was the matter, but he didn’t want to make Scout cross with him, so he said nothing.

But after the current song ended and the radio began to play commercial ads, Sniper turned the volume knob down to almost nothing.“You, er…okay over there?Bein’ awful quiet.”

From the corner of his eye, Sniper saw Scout turning his head to him and giving him a reassuring smile.“I’m fine, I was just…thinkin’ about sum’n.It’s dumb, don’t worry about me, I’m good.”

On the one hand, he wanted to respect Scout’s privacy—he could certainly understand not wanting to talk about something, wanting to keep it to yourself—but on the other hand, it wasn’t like Scout at all to keep so quiet.It was worrisome, honestly.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.“Well.Even if it is dumb, you could…tell it to me.Only if you wanted.”

That probably wasn’t the best way to phrase that, but it seemed to do the trick. 

“I dunno,” Scout sighed, “sometimes I just…I don’t even wanna _admit_ this, but like…sometimes I just start thinkin’ about some of that shit Bucky said to me, and it, like…it still kinda gets to me, y’know?”

“Well, you ain’t gonna forget abou’ him overnight,” Sniper said, hoping his tone came off as helpful and not derogatory, “nice as that’d be.’N’ the more you try not to think abou’ something, the more you actually _do_ think abou’ it…or that’s how I am, anyway.”

“Yeah…”

More silence, but this time it felt awkward.Sniper tried to think of something to say, but nothing was coming to mind.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before Scout interrupted the quiet between them.“Y’know what he said to me, though?He said I _ruined_ him.That’s literally what he said, he said ‘you ruined me.’And I asked him what the hell he meant by that and he said _I’m_ the one who made him all the shit he is—cokehead, deadbeat dad, just an asshole in general.He said it’s ‘cause a me, he did all he did.”

Sniper wished he could take his eyes off the road to look at Scout, if only for a second or two, but traffic was starting to thicken.He’d better not.“But you know none o’ that’s true, don’t you?” he said.

“I mean…I _guess_ , but…part a me kinda thinks he might have a point.I mean, _did_ I treat him wrong?Did I, like…lead him to doin’ somethin’ he didn’t wanna do?”

Fucking Looker—Bucky, whatever the hell his name was.He’d only been gone for a day, but still, Sniper thought it would make Scout feel so much better to know the man wouldn’t be around anymore.And it probably _did_ make him feel better, deep down, but it had also dredged up a lot of shit feelings about the bloke.Guilty ones, by the sound of it.It was easy for Sniper to see that Scout had done nothing wrong, and that what had become of Bucky’s life was the man’s own doing, but this was Scout’s first love, after all.Must be hard to let him go.

“That bit Bucky said abou’ you ruinin’ him, he only said that to get at you—to hurt you, like.He’s gotta know he can’t blame anybody else for the way he turned out.You didn’t _make_ him act the way he did, he did that on his bloody own.”

“I keep tryin’ to tell myself that, but I guess my dumb brain just ain’t gettin’ it,” Scout said with another sigh.

Despite the not-so-happy subject of their conversation, Sniper was reminded of a warm memory, one he hadn’t thought of in quite awhile.Maybe it’d do Scout some good to hear it.

“You know,” he said, “me dad used to be fond of this old sayin’, the one that goes ‘time heals all wounds.’You’ve heard that before, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Cept he had his own spin on it.He’d always say, ‘time heals all wounds and late is better than never.’Think he just made that up, honestly, but it’s always stuck wiv me.”

Scout was silent for a moment, presumably turning the phrase over in his mind.“What’s that supposed to mean, though?”

Sniper smiled a little as his memories led him back to thoughts of his dad—not his _biological father_ , mind, but his _real_ dad.Clear as day, he remembered those cracked, sun-spotted, calloused hands that would clap him on the shoulder in reassurance after one of his “bouts,” as Mum was wont to call them.Dad always carried the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and pungent aftershave; the memory was so strong, Sniper could almost smell him.

“Dad would always say that to me after I’d flip my lid abou’ something or other,” Sniper said.“You think I’m a mess now, you shoulda seen me when I was younger.I was a sight, I was.Dad would always tell me then, ‘time heals all wounds and late is better than never.’Think he said it ‘cause he knew I wasn’t gonna get over whatever had happened to me anytime soon.I took it to mean…how to explain it…things would get better wiv time, but it might take awhile.But late is better than never.So even if it does take some time…you’ll get there.”

After his little speech, Sniper actually felt a slight sense of accomplishment.He hadn’t stalled or stuttered his words more than a couple times.He thought he did a pretty fair job of it.And he, himself thought Dad’s advice was pretty good, but he didn’t know how Scout would take it.All he could do was keep his eyes on the road and wait for Scout to respond.

“Your dad sounds like he was a pretty cool guy,” Scout said after few beats of silence.

“He was,” Sniper said.There was no sadness in his voice when he said it.His dad had lived eighty-three long, happy years and had slipped away in his sleep.Damn good way to go, if Sniper did say so himself.“Did _not_ care for me career choice, but other than that, we got on great.”

“And so, just, if he could see sum’n was botherin’ ya, he’d say the whole ‘late is better than never’ thing?”

“More often than not, yeah.Can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that.”

“He would just, like…look atcha and notice sum’n was wrong, or would _you_ talk to _him_ , or how did that work?”

“Well, I’ll be honest, more often than not I’d be at the kitchen table bawlin’ me eyes out or in me bed wiv the covers thrown over me head.Weren’t that hard to tell I was goin’ nuts.’N’ when he came to check on me, he’d give me the little pep talk.”

Scout went unusually quiet again, and it was then that Sniper remembered Scout had grown up without a father figure in his life.Maybe he oughtn’t be bragging about his own. 

But soon enough, Scout put his mind at ease by speaking again.“Huh,” he said.“That’s cool.I think your old man just gave me some real good advice, Snipes.”

“Parenting from the afterlife,” Sniper mused, a smile playing at his lips.

Sniper risked a glance over at the other man.Well, at least Scout wasn’t sulking now.He looked nearly content.Sniper was glad for that—at least the man wasn’t outright sad anymore about that damn Bucky.

“Where _is_ this bookstore o’ yours, anyhow?” Sniper said, peering on either side of the street, trying to be on the lookout for it.They were in the heart of Threepoint now, puttering down Main Street at a snail’s pace due to thick traffic.They should be there by now, but Sniper didn’t see the place anywhere.

“Oh, ya passed it a couple minutes ago,” Scout said simply.“I didn’t wanna interrupt ya so I didn’t say nuttin’.Figured we could just turn around in a minute.”

Sniper had to laugh at that.He’d been so engrossed in his ‘time heals all wounds but late is better than never’ speech, he’d completely neglected to look for the Yellow Lemon bookstore.And it must’ve been a halfway decent speech, at the least, if Scout hadn’t interrupted him to tell him to pull over. 

“Well, we ain’t turnin’ round in this traffic anytime soon, love,” Sniper said.They were stopped at a red light now, so he was safe to look over at Scout.Scout was grinning now, too. 

“Guess you’ll just hafta tell me more cool stuff about your dad, then,” Scout said.“Or your ma.Whatever.”

The traffic light blinked from red to green, and the car was moving again—slowly, but it was moving.  For a moment, Sniper wondered why Scout was suddenly so interested in hearing about his parents, but he realized he, himself knew next to nothing about _Scout’s_ mum.  He’d like to know more about her, possibly even meet her someday.  He may not be able to present himself as Scout’s lover, he wasn’t sure, but maybe they could have a get-together with Scout’s mum on the pretense that the two of them were good friends.  Better than nothing, yeah? 

“Mum was the one who taught me how to knit,” Sniper said, plucking a story at random from his memory banks.“We raised sheep, see.And the bloke we sold our wool to gave us more yarn than you could shake a stick at…”

Sniper thought the story was pretty boring, himself, but it at least served to keep Scout entertained while they circled back around the block.He was even lucky enough to snag a parking spot right in front of the bookstore.

“You’re gonna love it, I swear,” Scout said as the two of them made their way to the entrance.“Books, coffee, peace and quiet, it’s like Sniper central in there.”

Sniper quirked an eyebrow at the phrase “Sniper central,” but made no comment about it as the two of them walked through the entrance to Yellow Lemon.

 

****

 

“Ya didn’t have to buy a whole frickin’ _library_ , Snipes,” Scout said, taking a drink of his soda.It was in a clear plastic cup, the liquid within a pleasing orangish-pink.“We’re allowed to come back, y’know.”

“Says the one who bought no less than twenty comic books.”

“Heyheyhey, I been stuck in that damn hospital room for over six weeks, I got a lotta catchin’ up to do,” he said matter-of-factly.“Gotta see what kinda ass Cap’s been kickin’, that kinda stuff.”

Sniper took a tentative sip of his coffee.Once he got a little taste of it and deemed it palatable, he took an even larger swig.“Their coffee’s bloody good,” he said.He looked over at Scout’s fizzy soda, eyes crinkling in amusement.“What kinda person goes to a coffee shop ’n’ don’t order a coffee, eh?”

“Same guy who goes to Waffle House and don’t order waffles, I guess,” Scout shrugged.

“There’s somethin’ wrong wiv you, I think,” Sniper teased.

“Yeah, there must be sum’n wrong with me for puttin’ up with _you_ all the time.”

“Oi, I think it’s _me_ who puts up wiv _you_.”

Scout snickered and took a drink of his soda.“Guess we kinda put up with each other, huh?”

Sniper couldn’t argue with that.“Yeah.”

It had been at least two full minutes before either of them realized that they were just sitting there staring at each other.Scout was the one to break eye contact first, casually sliding his gaze toward the window.Without looking, he eased his hand across the table, ghosted his fingertips across the top of Sniper’s hand, and slowly drew his hand back.

After taking a moment to appreciate both the gesture and the sensation, Sniper said, “Smooth.”

“‘Bout all we can get away with in public, I think,” Scout muttered, still pretending to be interested in looking out the window.

“True.”

They finished the rest of their drinks in comfortable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're getting more comfortable with one another ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> Here's the song Scout was singing in the shower, if anybody's wondering: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zx06XNfDvk0  
> I wanted him to sing this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2g_FD_sYazk   
> ...but I didn't know how to word it in the story without it sounding weird, so I picked the second-best option instead!


	18. Chapter 18

After the day’s physical therapy session with Nurse, Scout’s leg was deemed strong enough to walk without the crutch.At the news, Scout practically saw the clouds part and heard angels singing hallelujah.He’d been given strict orders (via Nurse’s hastily scrawled writing on a chalkboard) that he was _not_ to run and _not_ to overdo it, lest he ruin all the progress he’d made. 

Nobody had to worry about Scout screwing around and messing up his leg.He wanted to get back to work, and _bad_.He’d follow orders and do exactly what he’d been told to do, so he could jump back into the fray as quick as possible.

He’d wanted to do something kinda special for his first day without the crutch.His idea was to climb up Sniper’s Ridge—the rock formation where he and Sniper first met as more than just colleagues—and hang out.Sappy, maybe, but he wanted to do it all the same.Sniper vetoed the idea, though.Too much climbing, too strenuous on Scout’s leg, yada yada.He hated to admit it, but Sniper was right.

So they compromised.Sniper unhooked the utility lines from his Winnebago and drove it the quarter-mile it took to reach Sniper’s Ridge.Instead of climbing to the top of the rock formation, they settled for climbing to the top of the camper.

It felt so nice outside.There was a little nip in the air, just cool enough to wear a light jacket.Back in Boston, it'd nearly be time to break out the heavy coat and beanie hats and thick gloves, but not here in New Mexico.Scout couldn’t decide if he missed the frigid weather back home or not.He guessed he missed the snow.Snow was fun.

He was sitting so close to Sniper that their knees were touching.Sniper was knitting himself a red- and yellow-striped pom-pom hat, and every now and again Sniper’s elbow would bump into Scout’s arm.It was oddly comforting. 

Scout was about halfway through his comic book when Sniper unhooked the knitting needles from the hat.Scout looked up from his comic, watching as Sniper turned the hat this way and that, tugged at it in various places, pulled at the pom-poms.Once satisfied, he handed the hat over to Scout, who took it from him with uncertain hands.Did he want him to try it on, or something?

“Finished it,” Sniper said.“’S for you.”

Scout didn’t know why that surprised him so much, but it did.Despite himself, his eyes widened.“For real?” he squawked. 

“You don’t have to wear it,” Sniper told him.“’S the thought that counts, yeah?”

“Oh, I’m _gonna_ wear it.”

It wasn’t quite cold enough for a knitted hat, but Scout tugged it onto his head anyway.He’d have to look at himself in the Winnebago’s bathroom mirror here in a second. 

“How do I look?”

Sniper smiled.“You look good.”

Scout patted at his head, then ran his fingers along the woven ropes leading down to the pom-poms.Something weird was roiling in his gut.Something—something…

And that’s when he realized what that sickening gut feeling was.

_I love him._

_Oh God.I frickin’_ love _him, don’t I?_

He looked up at Sniper, meeting the man’s moody brown eyes, and the gut-churning feeling multiplied by about ten gajillion. 

_Oh God._

Both of his hands flew up to fidget with the yellow pom-poms dangling from his new hat.“I love…it,” he said awkwardly, sucking his lips into his mouth and puckering them out again.“The, the hat, I love the hat.For real, I…I’m gonna wear it and stuff, I promise, I mean I’m wearin’ it right now and everything.Heh.”

His face was on fire.It was usually Sniper that did all the fidgeting and stuttering, not him—he was a pro at hiding his negative feelings, always had been.Why was his brain choosing _right now_ to short-circuit and make him look like a dumbass?

He forced all the weirdness to the back of his mind.Poof.Gone.(For now, anyway.)He could turn this situation around and save face, no problem.

“You haven’t got to wear it on my account,” Sniper said, his voice a low, reassuring rumble.“Really.Some folks don’t like wool.Too itchy, too hot, something.S’fine.”

Scout opened his mouth to say he loved the hat, to quit worrying about it, seriously—that nobody ever made him anything before and he was actually really really flattered Sniper gave it to him, and it might just be the best gift he ever got from somebody, to be one hundred percent honest—

But that isn’t what came out of his mouth at all.What he actually said was completely different from any of that.

“Hey, Snipes?Could I ask ya sum’n?”

“Mm?”

“What’s your name?Your real one, I mean.”

Sniper blinked at him for a moment, probably just as surprised as Scout at the question that came from out of nowhere.“We’re not supposed to say, you know,” Sniper said, and Scout couldn’t tell if he was kidding around or not.“Top secret, and all that.”

Scout raised his eyebrows.“Ya don’t wanna know what _my_ real name is?”

Sniper bit at the side of his cheek.  “Well.  Suppose it wouldn’t hurt to swap names.  Figure I can trust you by now, eh?”

“I won’t go sellin’ ya out to the BLUs or whatever, I swear.”

Sniper hesitated for another second.“I’ll tell it on one condition.”

“‘Kay, what?"

“Tell me yours first.”

“That’s fair, I guess,” Scout said.“It’s stupid, though, like my mom was seriously runnin’ outta names by the time she got to son number eight.All our names end in ‘Y.’There’s”—he counted his brothers off on his fingers—“Anthony, Randy, Vinny, Tommy, Freddy, Danny, Stanley, and…me.”

“And what’re you?” Sniper asked.

Scout faltered.He had a dumb name, but he already told Sniper it was stupid.Nothing to do now but say it.

“Kenicky,” Scout said.

A smile spread its way across Sniper’s face, eventually morphing into a toothy grin. 

“Kenicky,” Sniper repeated.

“Yeah, toldja it was dumb,” Scout said with a shake of his head.“I had all sortsa nicknames in school.Icky Kenicky, Sicky Kenicky, No-Dicky Kenicky, Kenicky the Pricky, I could go on all day, for real.”He grimaced.

“It suits you,” Sniper said.“Not—not the nicknames, the _name_ , name.I like it.”

“Well, I’m glad _somebody_ likes it,” Scout said, but he was smiling.“Your turn.”

“‘M not so fond of my name, either,” Sniper admitted.“It’s an old man’s name.”

“Wait, lemme guess.Carl?”

“Not quite,” Sniper said.“I’m, er…I’m Lawrence.”

_Oh God._

_That’s—_

“That’s perfect for you, though,” Scout blurted.“Ya look like a Lawrence.”

Sniper frowned.“Thanks for that,” he grumbled.

“No, not like _that_ ,” Scout corrected, “I didn’t mean ya looked like an old man.Ya just…look like a Lawrence, I dunno.”

Sniper let a long, slow breath out of his lungs that wasn’t quite a sigh, but was awfully close to it.“Been awhile since somebody’s called me that,” Sniper said, getting a faraway look in his eyes.“Couple years, I guess.Sounds…odd.”

“Yeah, I know, whenever I get on the phone and talk to Ma or one a my brothers or whatever, they call me Kenicky.And I’m so used to ‘Scout’ it kinda takes me a minute to get used to it.Kinda…kinda feels like I left Kenicky back in Boston, anyway, y’know?Scout’s a totally different guy, almost.Like, _better_.”

Sniper nodded.“Yeah.Think ‘Sniper’ taught a thing or two to ol’ Lawrence, as well.Funny, that—how folks can change.”

“Kinda weird when ya think about it too hard, huh?”

“It is.”

_Lawrence_.God, Scout couldn’t quit thinking that name.On its own, yeah, it might not be the greatest name in the world, but it just fit Sniper so well.For whatever crazy reason, this newfound knowledge was making Scout giddy.

_I really do love him, don’t I?_

He still wanted to think this out, really analyze it.Because up until a few minutes ago, Scout had been under the impression that he’d been in love a whole buncha times, like a scary number of times.Just like Ma and all her boyfriends.But this feeling—this lightweight, airy sensation that flooded his lungs and the fluttering butterfly wings in his stomach—this was something else.He’d never felt something like it before. 

So how did he know it was love, then?

He…wasn’t sure.

He needed to think about this when he was alone.

Instead of picking his comic back up, he leaned his head over, propping it on Sniper’s shoulder.A moment later, he felt the weight of Sniper’s head resting against his.Thy sat that way for awhile, saying nothing, doing nothing—just enjoying each other’s company.Sniper’s familiar scent filled his nostrils, almost druglike in the amount of calm it provided.That, combined with Sniper’s steady breathing, eased him into a half-lidded lull.

But Scout had to say something before he forgot.He broke the silence to say one thing.

“I really do like the hat, I swear.”

 

****

 

_This is weird.This is really frickin’ weird._

Back in his bedroom, Scout lie on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.In his hand he held a threadbare baseball, cracked and yellowed and scuffed and dirty.He’d had the thing since he was _eight_.He’d climbed through more busted windows and strangers’ backyards to retrieve it than he could even remember.It stuck with him through good shit and bad—but mostly bad, honestly.Whenever he had to think hard about something, he got the old ball out for guidance.

Amigo the cat was lying beside him, sprawled in the space between his arm and his upper body.The cat’s front paws were clutching one of the pom-poms that dangled from Scout’s hat, which hadn’t left his head since Sniper gave it to him.That had only been a couple hours ago, sure, but that was still a pretty long time to wear a hat when it wasn’t cold.Scout’s head was uncomfortably warm.He ignored it.

“You tear up this hat and you’re gonna be an _outside_ kitty real frickin’ fast,” Scout warned, but it was an empty threat.He’d never had a pet before, and though a cat wouldn’t have been his first choice, he was getting pretty attached to him.Amigo was good company.

One hand held the baseball, turning it round and round, while the other hand idly scratched the cat’s back.He was still feeling the residual effects of whatever kind of hell-emotion burst out of him earlier in the day, and he thought keeping his hands occupied might help him think.It was calming him down, at the very least.

_Lawrence._

He didn’t really…y’know… _love_ Sniper, did he?Sure, that’s the idea he got earlier that day, but his head was _always_ buzzing with stupid stuff.Love was a strong, strong word.And unlike his Ma, he didn’t throw it around lightly.

In fact, he’d never said ‘I love you’ to anyone aside from family. 

He loved his Ma to death, but she went through boyfriends like most people went through toilet paper.She’d have a new man on Monday, proclaim her undying love on Wednesday, and dump him (or get dumped by him) by Saturday.Lather, rinse, repeat.The longest relationship she’d ever had—and this was coming from her own mouth—was a month and a half. 

Scout was determined not to do the same thing she did.He didn’t wanna jump the gun and say ‘oh, I love Sniper, forever and always, my darling, my angel, the love of my life’ then end up kicking him to the curb a week later.That was a very _Ma_ thing to do, and he didn’t wanna do that.Sniper meant too much to him.

How much did he mean to Sniper, though?

As he thought about that question, he made a mental list of all the things Sniper had done for him thus far:

One:he read those comic books Scout basically guilted him into borrowing.Sniper hadn’t read all of them yet, that’d take awhile, but he was working on it—he was caught up on all the Captain America comics, anyway. 

_Let’s turn the tables a lil bit, here.If Snipes wanted ya to read some_ book _books, like some a his kissy-kissy books, wouldja do it?_

_…Yeah.I guess.I’d do it, but I wouldn’t like it._

_So if ya didn’t want to, why wouldja do it?_

_‘Cause…’cause Sniper asked me to.And I like him, I wanna…well, I’d only be doin’ it so it’d make him happy._

_…Oh._

_I guess I’d do sum’n I don’t wanna do just to make Sniper happy._

_Huh._

Two:on the night Scout let his sadness get the better of him, the night he swallowed a bottle of aspirin with a bottle of gin, Sniper had been the one to drag his sorry ass down to med-bay.He’d pinned Scout’s arms to the examination table and chanted “look at me, look at me, look at me” while a rubber tube was fed down his throat.And after all that happened, there was no lecture, no ill feelings.Just support.

_Which is kinda funny if ya think about it, ‘cause Sniper’s spot on the team is a support position.He gives backup and stuff mainly to the offensive dudes—like me._

_I coulda died that night.Sometimes respawn is weird, sometimes when ya hurt yourself on purpose, the system gets confused—I dunno the technical crap that goes with it.Basically, Sniper saved me._

_He didn’t have to, he didn’t owe me nuttin’.I mean.I woulda done the same for him, but that ain’t the point.That…that took a lot outta him.I could tell.He did that for_ me _, y’know._

Three:before Scout’s surgery, Sniper taught him how to use a telescope.Scout never said it, but at that moment, he was missing his Ma and his brothers so bad he could hardly stand it.He was craving attention, contact, sympathy.He’d basically flung himself at Sniper that night.He’d actually only planned on stealing a hug from Sniper, but Scout lost control of himself and ended up kissing him.He’d kissed tons of girls (and one Bucky), but none of them could even hold a candle to what kissing Sniper felt like.Maybe it was just pre-surgery jitters that made it feel so good, so right, but it didn’t really matter.It had led to something great.

Four:Sniper spent countless hours in that godforsaken hospital room.Talked with him, snuck him food from the kitchen, listened to records with him, read books while Scout scribbled in his drawing pad. 

_And remember when ya said ya ran outta bubblegum, and he got up right frickin’ then and went to the store and gotcha some more?Like.Didn’t even ask what kind ya wanted, just brought ya back a whole bag a different kinds?He actually stopped what he was doin’, didn’t ask no questions, got in that shitty green truck a his and drove all the way to the store.And y’know how he gets with public places, like he toldja himself he waits till two in the mornin’ to do his shoppin’ ‘cause he don’t like to deal with people.He went and got your gum on a Friday afternoon.That place musta been swarmin’ with people._

Five:the hat.Sniper took a wad of string and two sticks and several hours out of his life and _made Scout an actual, functional article of clothing_.Shit.That was almost unfathomable, that he could do something like that.

The more he thought things over, the more he realized Sniper genuinely cared about _him_ , too.Maybe Sniper…felt the same way Scout felt, then?Maybe he…loved him, too?

But wait.Scout was getting ahead of himself again, he still didn’t know if he _loved_ Sniper, exactly.How did he know the difference between love and just really, really liking somebody?

Then a thought came to him.

He didn’t necessarily _like_ this thought, but he knew what he had to do now.

He dropped the baseball back into the drawer of his bedside table and dislodged his hat from Amigo’s paws.As he lifted himself off the bed, the cat gave a disgruntled chirruping noise from being jostled around so much. 

“Cry me a river, why don’tcha,” Scout said, but he gave Amigo a loving scratch under the chin anyhow.

He didn’t have a plan for what he was about to do—he hadn’t had time to make one, but even if he did, he wouldn’t have.If he thought about this too much, he’d chicken out and he wouldn’t do it.He needed to head down to the rec room before he lost his nerve.Fighting to keep his mind blank and free from any contradictory notions, he grabbed his lanyard from the top of the bedside table and headed out.

 

****

 

“Your cheeks are flushed,” Medic said, brow furrowing in what could possibly be concern, but it was hard to tell with him where the concern stopped and the morbid curiosity began.“Are you feeling under the weather?”

Medic and Heavy had been exactly where Scout knew they would be—in the rec room playing a game of chess.They played chess together every Wednesday night at seven-thirty, just like clockwork.Apparently just looking at the two of them, thinking about what he was about to ask, made Scout’s face turn all red.Maybe he should just forget about—

Nope. _Nope_.He needed to ask this. 

_Just hurry the hell up and get on with it already_ , he thought, hands balled into fists at his sides. 

“Nah, I’m feelin’ fine,” Scout said, taking it upon himself to pull up a chair and sit at their table, with Heavy to his left and Medic to his right.“It’s just, uh…I really gotta ask you guys sum’n, ‘cause I think you’re the only two that could answer this, but uh…it’s like.Personal.And ya might not wanna answer it.”

“Leetle Scout looks nervous,” Heavy pointed out.

“A personal question, you say?” Medic said.“I am sure you have noticed this about me by now, liebchen, but I don’t keep many secrets.Whatever your question is, I will most likely answer it.So, what is it that is troubling you?”

Scout swallowed.“Okay, uh…the two a you are like…”He raised his eyebrows pointedly.“Y’know.You’re— _together_ , aren’tcha?Like _together_ , together?Uh—a couple?Datin’?Right?”

A sly smile worked its way onto Medic’s face as he looked over at Heavy.Heavy returned the gesture.

“Ja,” Medic said.“We do not exactly _flaunt_ our relationship, but then again, we have never much tried to keep it a secret, either.”He pointed a stern finger at Heavy.“Sometimes that one cannot keep his hands to himself, no matter where we are.”

Heavy laughed, a short booming sound that was much too loud for the otherwise quiet room.“Doktor is beautiful man,” he said with a shrug.“Sometimes I must touch.”

Medic shook his head at him, but did not look at all displeased with the blunt compliment.He turned his attention back to Scout. 

“Well, I am sure you did not come here to listen to Heavy talk about how he likes to manhandle me,” the doctor chuckled.“Go ahead and finish your question, bitte.”

Their lighthearted banter was actually making him feel a little less like a moron for what he was about to ask.Maybe they really wouldn’t mind to tell him…

“Yeah,” Scout said, “uh…so, like.This is like the _real_ personal part, so if ya don’t wanna answer it, I can totally get that, but just know you’d really be helpin’ me out if ya _did_ answer it, though.”

Heavy and Medic looked at him expectantly. _Go on_ , their eyes seemed to tell him.He took a breath, let it out slowly.Then he started to talk again.

“So I know you’re a couple, ‘cause ya just told me ya were, but are you guys—in love?”

“Da,” Heavy said immediately, not even taking a beat to think it over.“I love Doktor very much.”He slapped his giant fist into his palm, the gesture making Scout flinch.“Heavy tells Doktor this every day.”

“What can I say?” Medic said wistfully.“I did not consider myself a romantic until I met mein Heavy.I never thought I would fall in love—or rather, that I would fall in love and those feelings would be reciprocated.” 

His face had softened into an expression Scout had never seen him make before.It was—well, it was _loving_. 

“So in answer to your question, liebchen, yes.The two of us are in love.Now _you_ must answer a question.”

Scout tried to swallow again, but there was no spit left in his mouth to really do anything. He knew what Doc was about to say.

“Why so interested in our love lives, all of a sudden?” Medic asked, which is precisely what Scout had expected.“Are you”—Medic raised his brow at him, his forehead breaking out into several rows of fine wrinkles—“ _wondering_ a few things about yourself?”

“Well—yeah,” Scout admitted with a sigh.“See, I—well, I’ve been spendin’ a lotta time with this _person_ , and this person might or might not be a _dude_ person—“

“Ja, Herr Sniper, we know,” Medic said, waving his hand through the air as if to say ‘you can skip over that part already, get on with the story.’

Scout blanched.“Wha—!How did you guys—!That frickin’ Spy toldja, didn’t he?!”

“He told us nothing,” Medic said.“Despite my eyeglasses, I can see quite well.It is not hard to figure out, if you know what to look for."

“Sniper is leetle Scout’s big shadow,” Heavy said, laughing at his own joke.Medic joined in, adding his high-pitched cackle to the mix.

His shadow?What did that—?Oh, like Sniper followed him everywhere, like somebody’s shadow does.They _did_ go everywhere together, or everywhere they possibly could.Thinking of Sniper standing behind him as an ever-present shadow was kind of a nice thought, actually.

“Spy figured it out ‘cause he’s, y’know, a spy and all.But I didn’t think anybody _else_ knew about it,” Scout said, the thought making him just a tiny bit nervous.If word made it back to the Administrator, she might not like it too much if two of her employees were an item.She might decide to fire them both, or switch one of them over to BLU, or drag them outside respawn range and put a bullet in their heads.Of the three, the first option was the best, but Scout really didn’t want any of them happening.

“Oh, don’t fret,” Medic said, “nothing will come of it.I take it you’re worried about job security, ja?Well.About a year ago, Heavy and I—“ 

Heavy shot a stern look across the table to Medic.Medic’s voice faded away in his throat.

“Ah, perhaps I should not get into the details,” Medic said, returning Heavy’s look with a tender smile.“But believe me.The Administrator could not care less about our love lives.Just so long as those relationships do not negatively affect job performance, of course.”

“For real?” Scout said.If that was true (which it probably was; Doc wasn’t the kind of guy that told white lies to spare someone’s feelings), that was a huge load off his shoulders.It’d be an even bigger relief for Sniper, no doubt.

“Of course.Think about it.The Administrator has invested far too much money in each of us to fire us over something so silly as loving another man.The only way she will ever get involved is if it affects your work.”

“Well, me and Snipes didn’t start seein’ each other, or whatever, till after my leg surgery.So I dunno how our, uh…relationship is gonna change stuff at work.I don’t think it will, I mean, Sniper’s all the time tellin’ me about ‘bein’ a professional’ and all that crap.He wouldn’t let our thing get in the way of his job, no way.”

Medic nodded.“Herr Sniper _does_ take his work very seriously, so I doubt you will have anything to worry about in that regard.”Medic lifted his head from its perch atop his palm, leaning back in his chair.“But I can tell that is not all you have come here to ask us.So tell me.What is really on your mind?”

By that point, Scout had nearly let himself forget his real reason for seeking these two out.He didn’t really know how to word it, what he wanted to ask them, so he’d just wing it.He was pretty good at doing that, anyway.

“Yeah, you’re right, that ain’t really why I came in here,” Scout admitted.“Good to know about the Administrator not really givin’ a shit, though—that’ll be a huge relief when I tell Sniper about that.But lemme get back to what I came in here for, for real.See, I asked if the two a you were…God, this is embarrassin’.” 

He rubbed his tape-wrapped palms across his cheeks, trying to work up his nerve. _Just spit it out_.

“Shit.Okay.I asked if the two a you were in love ‘cause I think I might be in love with Sniper like not just like him a lot but for real be in _love_ with him but I dunno if what I’m feelin’ is love or if I just care a lot about him and I thought the two a you might be able to help me figure out if I really love him or not ‘cause if I really do love him I wanna tell him and also maybe you guys could tell me how to _tell_ him or if I really even _should_ tell him or if we haven’t been datin’ long enough and it’s too soon for me to _know_ if I—“

Heavy held up a hand to silence him.Scout promptly shut his mouth.

“Scout talks too much,” Heavy said, but he said it in a voice that was different from the way he usually spoke—almost a gentle voice.It made the hairs on the back of Scout’s neck stand on end.

“I know I talk too m—“

Heavy held his hand up again.Scout clamped his mouth shut—just couldn’t help himself, could he?

“Heavy has advice for Scout.Is good advice.”

Despite knowing full-well he should keep his mouth closed, Scout barely avoided opening it and saying something like ‘yeah, okay, let’s hear it then.’Thankfully he managed to catch himself before he did, sucking his lips into his mouth as he nodded.

“First, love is scary.Is such _big_ feeling.Almost make Heavy feel _sick_ , is such big feeling.Strange feeling that starts in stomach, goes to chest, makes Heavy feel so, eh…unusual. 

But.Then Heavy sees Doktor more and more, and scary sick feeling change.Is not so scary, is more… _happy_.Doktor is by Heavy’s side, Heavy is happy.Doktor is gone, even just for leetle while, Heavy is sad.Something good happens to Doktor?Heavy is happy also.Something sad happens to Doktor?Heavy is sad also. 

Heavy and Doktor like some same things, some not so same things.See this chess?We play chess.Doktor reads many books?I read many books.Some things Doktor likes that I do not like, and Doktor does not like things I like.I like to be doing cooking, Doktor does not.Doktor likes to be doing cleaning, and Heavy does not.But sometimes Heavy does cleaning for Doktor when Doktor has too much work.Why does Heavy do this, if Heavy does not like it?Because Heavy _does_ like Doktor.Heavy _loves_ Doktor.Wants to make Doktor have easy life, happy life.So Heavy makes, eh…what is English word… _compromise_.”

For that whole speech, Scout’s eyes were glued to Heavy, watching as the behemoth of a man bared his most intimate feelings.It was almost surreal.When Heavy finished, Scout looked over to Medic, who couldn’t have smiled any wider if he tried. 

“That was very well-put, bärchen,” Medic said, giving his lover a lingering look before turning back to Scout.“I do have a few things I would like to add, however. 

The fact that you are questioning your feelings for Herr Sniper speaks volumes.It means that you have not fallen victim to _obsession_.Many people become obsessed with someone and mistake it for pure, undying love.That only ends in disaster.

As Heavy said, love can be frightening at first.In fact, when I first realized I was in love with that man sitting across the table from me, I denied it for an entire week.I did not _want_ to be in love, because I just _knew_ there was no way he would feel the same way about me.I was wrong about that, of course.” 

Medic and Heavy exchanged sweet smiles.While Medic had briefly stopped talking, Scout took that as an opportunity to get a word in edgewise.

“Yeah,” Scout said, “yeah, it’s frickin’ horrifyin’.‘Cause I’m dyin’ to know if he feels the same, but what’m I gonna do if he _don’t_?I’d lose my best friend, y’know?After ya tell somebody ya love ‘em, ya can’t take that shit back, so is it even worth it to ask?Especially if I ain’t even sure if I _do_ love Sniper.I think I do, I really _really_ think I do, but I just—I don’t—I dunno.”

Scout groaned.This was way too complicated.It was starting to give him a headache.

“Trust me when I say, the reward is well-worth the risk,” Medic told him.“Let me ask you a few questions, liebchen, they may help you.When you are away from Herr Sniper, do you miss him?”

“Yeah, it’s weird, I miss him like crazy.I know I’m gonna get to see him the next day and stuff, but even when I’m just sittin’ around not really doin’ anything, I wish he was there to do nuttin’ beside me.It’s…that’s kinda creepy, ain’t it?”

Medic smiled as he shook his head.“Not really.Next question:do you care about Sniper’s wellbeing just as much as you do your own?”

“Oh, for sure.Snipes is…he gets real worried sometimes.Okay, a lot of the time.About everything.I know he don’t look it, but he don't do so great with, like…like orderin’ at a restaurant, or usin’ the telephone, or payin’ out at the grocery store, or…ya get the idea.He can’t help it, though, y’know?It breaks my heart, seein’ him all nervous and shit.I wish I could make all’a that go away, but I know I can’t, obviously, so I just help him out whenever I can.But I definitely care about his feelin’s just as much as mine.Maybe, uh…maybe a little _more_ than mine, actually.”

“And do you feel like Sniper has made you a better person since you have known him?”

“Definitely,” Scout said without hesitation.“Snipes taught me how to, like…calm down for a second and think stuff through, for one.Another thing, I didn’t give a shit about animals before I met him, and now I got a frickin’ cat?And I actually really _like_ this cat?And this is kinda embarrassin’ but I’ll say it anyway, like…like I try to be on my best behavior now, like I try real hard not to do anything dumb.‘Cause I know he worries about me and I wanna…take better care a myself, I guess.”

Medic nodded slowly, then turned his head back to look at Heavy.It seemed like they were having an unspoken conversation amongst each other, because Heavy nodded back at him.

“Of course no one can tell you how you really feel, I know you know that,” Medic said.“But let me just say…I have seen Herr Sniper sit at your bedside, refusing to leave you.I see the way he pushes his boundaries for you.I see the way he _looks_ at you.Take some time, think about how you feel.But if you do decide you love him—“

“Tell him,” Heavy concluded.

“How long should I think about it, though?” Scout asked, to neither of them in particular.

Medic gave a light chuckle.“As long as it takes, of course!You will know when you make up your mind.It could take a whole week, like I did—“

“Or it is taking one hour to know, like Heavy,” Heavy added.

“Or within the next hour,” Medic grinned, “who knows.I would not rush it.”

Suddenly, Scout was desperate to get some serious thinking done.It would probably help stuff along if he could clear his head, but he normally did that by running, and his leg wasn’t up to that yet.

“Awright,” Scout said, nodding.“Awright, yeah.”He slid his chair back from the table.“Hey, thanks, guys, I mean it.I’m sure I ain’t gotta say this, but you guys won’t tell Snipes any a this, will ya?”

“Of course not,” Medic said.“Now be gone with you, liebchen, I have a chess game to win.”

“Doktor never wins at chess,” Heavy said, turning his attention back to the chessboard.

The three of them muttered some halfhearted goodbyes and then Scout made his leave from the rec room.God, what he wouldn’t do to go for a run right now…but he shouldn’t, he knew that.

Well, he might not be able to go for a _run,_ but he didn’t guess there was anything stopping him from going for a _drive_ …

He already had his car keys; he’d gotten in the habit of clipping them onto his lanyard, since Sniper drove his car more than he did these past couple months.Instead of heading back to his room, which he knew would only muddle his thoughts further, he headed down to the garage.

_…Lawrence._

God, he was never gonna get that out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember waaaaaay back in chapter 2 when Sniper accidentally bought a knitting pattern? It was a pattern for a cute lil pom-pom hat. (:
> 
> (I've been wanting Sniper to knit Scout a hat since the beginning, but I didn't know how to go about it until now lmao)
> 
> And I _know_ Sniper's name is Mick Mundy in the comics, but I...I dunno, I just don't think the name Mick suits him. I went with the second option, which was Lawrence. There's a Sniper item set called the 'Lawrence of Australia,' which I know is a reference to that old movie 'Lawrence of Arabia'...but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> And as far as I know, Scout doesn't have any supposed real names. So I went with Kenicky, you know, like that guy from Grease? A hickey from Kenicky? 
> 
> By the way, I hope Heavy's dialogue sounds ok...? I know he's not dumb, he's just not so good at speaking English yet.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter are listed in the end notes. Scroll down or click the 'see the end of the chapter for more notes' link if you want to read them (:

Sniper’s TV was a lot bigger than the one in the rec room, not to mention a lot newer.Part of him hadn’t wanted to indulge in such an expensive piece of ever-evolving technology, but he found himself oddly drawn to the red-colored speakers built into either side of it.With Truckie’s help, he’d bolted it down to the floor; that way, it wouldn’t topple over when he drove the camper around.The reception was nonexistent when the Winnie was in motion, of course, but he didn’t drive it around much, anyhow.

At present, Scout sat cross-legged in front of the TV, his face hovering mere inches away from the screen.He _had_ been on the couch sitting next to Sniper, but that was before the ballgame actually started.Once his beloved Boston Red Sox graced the screen, Scout scrambled to the floor to tap urgently at the beveled glass.

“Lookit this, Snipes, looklooklook,” Scout said, prodding the glass in about a hundred different places.“This is Fenway Park, I been there a million times.Me and my brother Tommy used to go every time the doors were open, practically.” 

The image on the TV panned over to a densely-packed stadium, an anonymous sea of red, white, and navy blue.Scout drew an imaginary circle around a particular chunk of the crowd with the pad of his finger.“Hey, check that out, y’see this section a seats right there?One time I was sittin’ somewhere in there and Carl Yastrzemski hit a fly ball, right?Actually it wasn’t comin’ anywhere near me, but I jumped over six rows of seats and caught it anyways.”

Sniper could easily picture Scout doing that very thing, probably acquiring some form of bodily injury in the process.“D’you still have it?”

“Course I still got it, man!I didn’t bring it with me, though, I left it with my Ma so I wouldn’t lose it.Matter a fact, I—“

But he never finished that train of thought because right then, the television zoomed in on one of the Red Sox players standing in the outfield.At the sight of him, Scout practically ran his whole fist through the screen. 

“There he is, that’s Carl Yastrzemski right there!He’s playin’ left field right now and lemme tell ya, when he first got signed on to the Sox I didn’t think I’d like him as much as I do, ‘cause he was takin’ the place of Ted Williams and that ain’t exactly an easy thing to do, well I don’t _think_ it’d be an easy thing to do, but—“

Even though Sniper couldn’t understand half the baseball jargon Scout was using, he still listened to every word and tried to make sense of it.He knew the basics of the sport, he reckoned, but not much beyond that.Honestly, baseball might not interest him much, but he’d ask a question about it now and again—if only to see Scout’s face light up when he told Sniper all about shortstops, curveballs, change-ups, loaded bases.Whenever Scout got all excited like that, he was…well.He was right cute, wasn’t he?

_(Yes.)_

Sniper quickly learned that Scout was one of those folks who liked to shout at the tele when The Sporting Event reached a tense or hectic moment.From what Sniper could gather, the Red Sox were losing by a small margin at “the bottom of the ninth,” which apparently meant the game was almost over.One moment Scout was crouched in front of the TV, hands balled into fists and a very studious look gracing his features, and the next minute he vaulted himself into the air, screeching and whooping and jumping in a very loud display of victory. 

“ _Oh my God!_ ” Scout hollered, his entire face flushed with happiness and awe.He scrambled onto the couch and gripped one of Sniper’s forearms, giving it a little jostle.“Didja see that, Snipes?!”

Sniper gave him a crooked smile.“I think I did.”

“That was frickin’ _amazing_ , I toldja Yaz was gonna pull through for us!”He sighed loudly, rolled his eyes, and collapsed into Sniper’s lap.“That was the best ballgame I’ve seen in a long time.Holy shit.”

“Think I understand the game for the most part, now,” Sniper said, the warmth of Scout’s body seeping through his trousers, melding into his skin.The sensation of another person’s body heat was strange, to be sure…but it was a good kind of strange.

“It ain’t that hard to follow once ya’ve watched a few games,” Scout said, leaning back up into a sitting position, taking his body’s warmth with him.  Sniper nearly wrapped his arms around the man, just to feel that…what was it…that _closeness_ again, but that wasn’t something normal folks did, was it?  Or _was_ it?

Scout got up and turned off the TV.Sniper nearly asked why—didn’t he want to watch the tele?Sniper didn’t mind either way, but then again, the majority of his job consisted of sitting and doing not much of anything.Scout was…a bit different in that regard, to say the least.He had to have something to keep him occupied at all times.

“Hey,” Scout said, sitting back down on the couch beside Sniper, “I turned the TV off ‘cause I thought, maybe, me and you could talk for a minute.”

Oh.Oh, no.Oh, no no no.Sniper might not have ever experienced this firsthand, but he’d certainly heard of the “we need to talk” thing.The serious look now donning Scout’s face only further emphasized the notion.He…Scout was trying to break things off, wasn’t he?As in…severing any sort of romantic feelings?Maybe he only wanted to be friends now, or _worse_ , maybe—

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder.It had been awhile since Scout had used the shoulder-squeeze tactic on him.Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

_(Probably bad.)_

“Ya look like you’re scared to death,” Scout said, offering up a smile.His hand drifted down from Sniper’s shoulder, caressing his upper arm.“It ain’t nuttin’ bad, I promise.I just…wanna talk about sum’n.”

All Sniper managed to do in response was give a slight nod.It felt like his brain was slowly numbing over.Just now, Scout had very plainly said that what he wanted to talk about wasn’t anything bad, so if it wasn’t _bad_ , that would probably mean _good_ , yeah?But if it _was_ something good, why the seriousness all of a sudden?Things weren’t exactly going together, here.Or maybe they were, maybe they made perfect sense, and Sniper just wasn’t grasping it.That might very well be the case.

Sniper’s tongue darted out between his lips.Dry. 

“Okay,” Sniper said uncertainly. 

“This is…” Scout began, grabbing up both of Sniper’s hands with his own, squeezing them.  The gentle pressure helped Sniper’s brain float back down to Earth, if only a bit.  “‘Kay, I promise I planned out exactly how I wanted to say this, but I kinda forgot it all just now.”  He grinned sheepishly.  “Uh.  So basically, we’ve been… _together_ now for how long?  Three months?”

“Sounds abou’ right,” Sniper said, even though he really wasn’t sure.He’d have to think about it for a minute, but his brain wasn’t quite up to the task. 

“Actually I think it’s prob’ly closer to four, but whatever, same thing,” Scout said.“Anyway, I just…look, I know ya said you’ve never dated anybody before me.And I know _I’ve_ dated more girls than I really wanna admit to.You’re the first dude I’ve ever been with, and I know ya know that, but I mean…just because you’re the _first_ dude, that don’t mean I don’t…like…” 

He sighed.“Look, before I say this, I just want ya to know I thought long and hard about all’a this, like I been thinkin’ about it for a whole frickin’ _week_.This ain’t sum’n I’m just tellin’ ya ‘cause I woke up this mornin’ and thought it’d be a peachy idea.I wanted to make sure I…meant it.”

Scout’s hands were growing hot and sweaty clasped in Sniper’s trembling ones.That only added fuel to Sniper’s fire, the worry in his gut increasing tenfold.Something terrible was about to come out of Scout’s mouth, he was sure of it, something horrendous was about to be uttered from those wind-chapped lips and there was nothing he could do to stop it.He could do nothing at _all_ , nothing but sit there and wait for whatever it was Scout was about to say.

“Y’know ya mean a lot to me, right?” Scout said, in a way that sounded like he was waiting on a reply.

Sniper nodded.“Course,” he managed.

“I ain’t ever been this close to nobody, ya gotta know that,” Scout said.“Ya’ve seen me at my worst, pretty much, and ya stayed by me anyway.Ya put up with a lotta my bullshit, I know that.I’m _thankful_ for that.I’ve told ya stuff I ain’t ever told anybody, not even my Ma.I know I ain’t perfect, nobody is, and—and you ain’t either, Snipes, like—like I _wanna_ help ya when ya start freakin’ out about stuff, though, like—like I _wanna_ be there for ya.Like ya always are for me, y’know?”

Scout blinked furiously.His eyes were getting glassy.Whatever bomb he was about to drop, Sniper knew it was only a few seconds before he let loose of it.

“Sniper,” Scout said, but he shook his head.“ _Lawrence_.” 

He leaned over.Ghosted the faintest kiss to Sniper’s lips.

“I love you.Lawrence.I…I really do.I love you.”Scout was making a conscious effort to pronounce the word ‘you’ instead of shortening it with his natural Bostonian accent, and that alone was enough to clue Sniper in on how serious he was.“I know it’s sudden.Pretty sure most normal people wait longer to tell somebody they love ‘em, but I couldn’t look atcha every day and not tell ya anymore.”He raised his eyebrows, looking at Sniper expectantly.

Sniper was, to say the least, in shock.He felt oddly airy, like he might float away like a balloon if Scout let go of his hands.

He opened his mouth to say something.He didn’t know what, but he needed to say _something_.The only thing that came out of his mouth was a soft gurgling sound.

Scout’s serious expression broke into a much more pleasant one as he gave Sniper a reassuring, buck-toothed smile.“It’s awright if ya don’t know what to say, I know that’s a lot to throw atcha all at one time.I just had to say it all, though, y’know?Couldn’t just say part of it and leave the rest for a rainy day, I had to get it all out in the open.”

_You’ve_ got _to pull it together, mate.You can’t just let him sit there and look at you, you’ve_ got _to say something_.

_I know._

“I thought you were trying to break it off with me,” Sniper said breathily.

_My God, Lawrence.The man tells you he loves you, and of_ all _the things you could’ve said, you picked that._

_I know._

“Figured ya did,” Scout said.“Sorry, Snipes.For real.I knew if I dragged it out, it’d make ya nervous, but I wanted to make sure I said it all.I could see your eyes gettin’ bigger and bigger the more I talked and I felt _so_ bad, ‘cause I knew I was freakin’ ya out, but I didn’t know how else to say it, y’know?I didn’t wanna just say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, I wanted to kinda… _explain_ it a little first, I guess?I wanted to make sure ya knew I meant it.Which I do.That I can promise ya.”

Sniper didn’t know what to say.

_Well what d’you_ think _you’re supposed to say when your boyfriend tells you he loves you?‘Thanks’?_

He knew what he needed to say.He _wanted_ to say it.But he didn’t know if he could make himself say the words.

_I can do this.I can do this.I can do this._

_I…_

_I can do this._

Sniper screwed his eyes shut.Gripped Scout’s hands a bit tighter.

“Snipes,” Scout said, “I get it, I know I just put a lot on ya all at once, don’t—“

“I love you,” Sniper blurted. 

When had he known he was in love with Scout?When had he gone from “I sort of like him,” to “I _really_ like him,” all the way to “I’m truly in love with him”?Was there a precise moment in time when everything he thought he knew began to change, or had it happened gradually?He didn’t know the answer to any of those things.Of course he didn’t.

Till now, he never thought he’d know what love felt like—not the romantic sort, anyhow.But now that he _did_ feel it, he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.

(Maybe that was just the fear and adrenaline talking, but he’d worry about that later.)

“I—I really do.”

Scout’s eyes were round as marbles and nearly as glassy.He dislodged his hands from Sniper’s grip and laced his fingers around the back of Sniper’s neck.

“For real?” Scout asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sniper nodded.“Yeah.”

“I ain’t ever told anybody I loved ‘em before.Other than family, I guess, but that don’t count.”

“Neither’ve I.”

“I love you, though, I know I do.Ya believe me, don’tcha?”

That struck Sniper as a bit of an odd thing to say, but then again, what did he know?“Why wouldn’t I?” he said, moving his hands to rest idly at Scout’s waist.

Scout gave a slight shrug.“I dunno.Just…my Ma’s prob’ly had close to a hundred boyfriends.Maybe more than that, actually.She’d tell ‘em ‘I love you’ just hopin’ that’d make ‘em stick around longer, I think.But that ain’t what I’m doin’ here, I just wanna be real clear on that, I wouldn’t tell ya I loved you if I didn’t mean it.Ya know I’d never-ever do that, right?That’d I’d only, like…say sum’n like that if really meant it?”

Sniper surprised even himself by dipping his head down and brushing a kiss near the corner of Scout’s mouth. 

“Course I know that,” Sniper uttered.“No worries.”

And then Scout squirmed and clambered his way into Sniper’s lap, arms draping around Sniper’s neck, the sharp jut of his chin digging into Sniper’s shoulder.Both of Scout’s knees wound up in between Sniper’s legs, which was more than a little uncomfortable, but the rest of the bodily contact made up for that.Sniper sighed through his nose and wound his arms around Scout’s waist.

“I love you, gremlin.”

“Love you, too, Legs.”

 

****

 

Sniper could tell he wasn’t going to sleep a wink that night.

He couldn’t stop thinking of the time when he was thirteen years old, when he and his cousins Moira and Fran went to the movies together.He’d wanted to see _Treasure Island_ , but they wouldn’t hear of it.They’d dragged him practically kicking and screaming into theater number five to see _Cinderella_ instead.

(He still had the ticket stub somewhere, tucked into one of his photo albums.He’d have to look for it.Scout might get a kick out of seeing it.)

(Scout.)

( _Kenicky_.)

He’d been determined to hate the movie, of course.Boys weren't supposed to like princess movies.What if someone from school saw him in here?As if that lot didn’t have enough things they made fun of him for already; the last thing he needed was to give them even _more_ reasons to chase after him and run him up a tree. 

He ended up loving the movie.Oh, how he hated to admit it to Moira and Fran, because he’d been the one begging to go and see a different film, but he couldn’t help it.He didn’t know why, but his favorite bit was when Cinderella danced with her prince at the ball and sang ‘So This Is Love,’ that haunting melody that sprang to the forefront of Sniper’s memory every once in a great while.

As he lie in his bed with eyes wide open and stomach in knots, he couldn’t get that asinine song out of his head.

He felt like an idiot.An immature idiot, at that.

But couldn’t help it, that he felt what he felt and he thought what he thought.

_He loves me_ , Sniper thought. _He told me he loves me._

_I love him.I told him I love him._

_We…we love_ each other _._

_What are the odds?_

So many things had happened in his life that had led up to this very moment.His biological parents didn’t give a damn about him and left him for dead.A middle-aged couple happened upon him, took him in, raised him as their own—gave him food, water, shelter, clothes, toys, _a name_.He wondered if his biological parents ever even named him.Probably not.

His horrendous nerves rendered him useless at pretty much everything except for shooting a gun and faffing about in the bush.His father—his _real_ father Ed Mundy, not his biological one—taught him how to use a rifle as soon as he was old enough to hoist a child-sized version to his bony little shoulder.As the years went by he got better and better at shooting, which led to him cleaning his own game and selling fresh meat to the local markets.His father also taught him how to prep and tan animal hides, which Sniper sold to the leatherworker.He hunted down rare flowers for the florist and picked various herbs and spices for the bloke at the farmer’s market. 

Every now and then, he’d take care of some pest problems for the folks in the surrounding farmhouses—rats, mostly.He felt bad for killing them, since they weren’t tasty enough to eat unless he was really hungry, but if he trapped them and let them go, they’d just become someone else’s problem.Sometimes he ate one or two of them out of guilt, roasting them over an open flame with some salt and pepper and fresh butter.Edible, he supposed, but greasy and bitter.At least they weren’t going to waste that way, though.

Early mornings and late afternoons were spent tending the sheep.His dad did most of the work, but Sniper did a few things here and there.He helped Mum with a bit of the housework when he could.All things considered, he kept himself pretty busy; nearly all the money he made went directly into Mum ’n’ Dad’s pockets.He kept very little for himself.Didn’t need it, really.

It had been a nice, peaceful life while it lasted.

But the older he grew, the more everyone began to talk.

It was cute when little fifteen-year-old Lawrence Mundy wanted to make some pocket money selling game and various other things to the local shops, but a twenty-year-old?Why didn’t he have a real job?Twenty turned to twenty-five, and by then, even his parents were beginning to prod at him for not having a real job.Didn’t he have ambitions in life?Didn’t he want a wife, kids, a home of his own?It was strange, the fact that he still lived with his parents, whether he pulled his own weight around the place or not.

And at age twenty-eight, he’d had his breakdown.Of all the places he could’ve been, he was at a gas station, trying to psych himself up to buy a newspaper from the dispenser. 

_At least go and buy a paper, pumpkin,_ Mum had said. _See what’s in the help wanted section.You might find something your nerves could handle.You’ll never know until you look, yeah?_

He had a nickel pinched between his thumb and forefinger and poised over the coin slot, but he couldn’t let loose of it, couldn’t make himself buy the paper.His breathing was loud and erratic as it whooshed in and out of his nostrils.A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“Oi, you buyin’ a paper or not?” someone behind him had said.Sniper’s hands shook so hard he dropped his nickel.The tinkle of the coin hitting the pavement sounded like it was thousands of miles away.

Next thing he knew, he was on his knees in the gas station’s men’s room, expelling all of his stomach contents into the already filthy toilet.Tears streaked down his face.He tried in vain to choke off the sobbing noises wrenching their way out of his throat.His whole body ached, he was cold all over, he was trembling.If this hadn’t happened a million times before on a lesser scale, he’d have thought he was dying.

_Idiot._

_Bleedin’ useless._

_Stupid._

_No-hoper._

_Can’t even buy a fuckin’ newspaper.What’re you gonna tell Mum?How can you even explain this to her?After all she’s done for you, you can’t even buy a newspaper to make her happy._

_How can you live the rest of your life like this?_

The answer to that was that he couldn’t.There was no way he could go on like this.He’d have offed himself ages ago if it wouldn’t’ve broken Mum ’n’ Dad’s hearts.But the two of them were near eighty years old; he hated to think of them dying, but he knew they probably didn’t have a lot of time left.Once the both of them passed on, he’d end his life for good.

Or maybe—maybe he could lie.Maybe he could tell them he’d gotten a job in the States and that he was moving away.Then he could put a bullet between his eyes and they wouldn’t miss him.Well, they would miss him, but they wouldn’t think he was dead.At this point, that was probably the best option.

_A fitting way to go, innit?The only thing I was ever good at was shooting a gun.The last thing I’ll ever shoot’ll be me own head._

He heard the sound of someone entering the men’s room.Whoever it was, they’d probably peek under Sniper’s stall to see if it was occupied, only to be greeted with the sight of a gangly-legged man kneeling in front of a disgusting gas station toilet.Five minutes ago, the thought of someone seeing Sniper like that would’ve horrified him; but now, he didn’t even care.He was going to die in a day or two, anyhow, so what the hell did he care?

But the bloke’s footsteps sounded…odd.Instead of clomping boots or scuffling trainers, Sniper heard the dainty sound of high heels clicking across the piss-streaked tiles.His eyes widened.There was a sheila in here, wasn’t there?Maybe she’d gone in the wrong bathroom by mistake, or—

The footsteps stopped right outside his bathroom stall.Sniper didn't dare peek underneath the stall, for fear of what he might see.He clamped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

“Lawrence Mundy?” a female voice said.His arms broke out in goose pimples and a shock of cold ran down the length of his spine.This woman, whoever she was, knew his name.Was she a friend of Mum’s?Had she followed him here, to make sure he’d really gone and bought the newspaper like he was supposed to?Mum might’ve asked a woman from her knitting circle to keep an eye on him, make sure he was alright, but he didn’t recognize the voice…

The fact that he made no reply didn’t deter this woman in the least; she proceeded as if he’d acknowledged her.“Mister Mundy, how would you like a job?We’ll pay you a shitload of money to get in fights.”

“What?” Sniper croaked.The sheer absurdity of the woman’s words had broken his silence.

“Maybe we could talk outside?” the woman said.“A little fresh air might clear your head.Also, this bathroom’s disgusting.”

The mystery woman was Miss Pauling, of course, and the job offer had been a legitimate one.She couldn’t have picked a more opportune time to ask him if he was interested, and he'd accepted the preliminary briefcase full of currency without much thought. 

Since then, he’d heard a couple of the other mercs telling their stories of how Miss Pauling found them, and they all sounded like the woman had been keeping a watchful eye on them for months, if not years, waiting for the perfect time to offer them a position at RED. 

Sniper didn’t care one bit to be a part of a secret government experiment in the States.The pay was great, he’d get to shoot people without them actually dying—best of all, his parents would be thrilled to death that he’d finally gotten a real job.He’d send them part of his paycheck every month to try and pay them back for all they’d given to him over the years.He’d call them as often as he could.He’d send postcards.Maybe this job would even allow vacation days.He might be able to fly back to Australia and visit them a time or two.

And to think:if he hadn’t hit rock bottom, he’d have never met Scout.It was so weird to think of it that way, but it was true.Had Miss Pauling not intervened when she did, he’d have likely died by his own hand somewhere out in the Australian bush.Sniper was always fond of Miss Pauling for saving his life, in a way, but maybe he should also be thankful for bringing him to Scout.Which is a bit ironic, since Scout had fancied her for the longest time.

_So this is love….mmmm-mm-mm-mmmm…_

Sniper threw a forearm over his eyes, hoping that might somehow help him go to sleep.He was still having trouble believing the day’s events had actually happened.Scout loved him.

Why?

Scout could do so much better.There were so many things about Sniper that Scout didn’t even know.If he knew the half of it…

Sniper needed to tell him a few things.

Scout knew he was a worrywart, but he probably didn’t know _how much_ of one he really was.Scout shouldn’t have to deal with all that.He needed someone who liked to have fun like him, who could go places he wanted to go, who didn’t have so many things they were incapable of doing.When the two of them went to public places together, Scout was Sniper’s glorified babysitter.Who would want to put up with that, especially from their partner?

Sniper threw his other forearm over his mouth and groaned into it.He loved Scout, and Scout said he loved him, but…

…but.

It wouldn’t be fair to Scout to tie him down like this.He needed someone better.

At the very least, Sniper should probably tell him what it was, exactly, he was getting into.Sniper should tell him more about his life before RED, especially the bits that happened right before Sniper joined.That had been the low point of his life, after all; Scout needed to know about it.

He loved Scout, loved him more than he thought he could ever love a person, really.He didn’t want to live his life without him.But more than that, he wanted Scout to be happy.Sniper didn’t know if he could make Scout happy, or if he’d just be a burden on him.

If two people love each other, but one of those people could find someone loads better to love them, what should be done about that?

Sniper couldn’t even imagine breaking up with Scout.But wouldn’t it be the considerate thing to do?What was that saying—‘if you love me, let me go’?Should he do that?

He could never do that.

But should he?

Sniper groaned again.He was tired and cranky and he didn’t know what to do.

One thing was for certain:he needed to have a sit-down with Scout and tell him a few things.If Scout was still interested in him after all that, Sniper would go from there.

Or—or that was what he thought he should do, anyhow.He wasn’t sure about anything, anymore.

When his alarm to get up went off, he just chuckled a little to himself.He hadn’t even managed to get a minute of sleep.

Such is life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in this chapter for  
> -decently graphic depiction of a panic attack  
> -a character contemplating suicide
> 
>  
> 
> This fic has been needing some Sniper backstory for awhile, but I didn't have a good place to put it. Glad I finally got a chance to write some in.
> 
> Also I don't know anything about baseball, so I had to look up a lot of stuff!! Hope it doesn't sound too forced.


	20. Chapter 20

The change in temperature from the warmth of the base’s kitchen to the chill night air outside was enough to steal Scout’s breath away.He tugged at the ear-flaps of his trusty pom-pom hat, pulling it flush with his head.At least that part of him would be warm; the rest of him, not so much.

And if _he_ was cold, Sniper must be a frickin’ popsicle beside him.They’d had to endure way colder climates than this when they were on the job, but it seemed like frigid weather affected Sniper worse than it did anybody.Probably because he’d baked like a lizard in the Australian heat for the vast majority of his life.At this point, he might never get used to the cold.

After taking a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anybody watching them, Scout reached out and curled his hand around Sniper’s.Sure enough, it felt much colder than his own.Scout threaded their fingers together as they hurried their way to Sniper’s Winnebago.

“Hey, thanks for doin’ that, by the way,” Scout said.In the milky glow of the moonlight and the dull orange haze of the night watchman, Scout could see his breath puff out in little clouds. 

“Nah, it’s—y’don’t have to thank me for it,” Sniper replied.His voice was a tad stiff-sounding, probably due to the cold.“I didn’t mind, honestly.”

“Pyro got a kick outta you bein’ there, that’s for sure.”

It was Friday evening, which was the night when Scout and Pyro always got together to play a board game.It had been awhile since they’d gotten to finish an entire round of anything, though, since the metal folding chairs in the rec room were anything but comfortable on Scout’s bad leg.He’d been able to sit through two rounds of Yahtzee and a few hands of rummy tonight, though, which was a hell of a lot more than he thought he’d be able to endure.That, combined with the fact that Sniper stuck around to play, had made Pyro a pretty happy camper.

“Think so?”

“Yeah, definitely.Ya could practically see him smilin’ all the way through his gas mask.”

“What d’you reckon Pyro looks like under there, anyhow?”

A devilish grin sprang to Scout’s face, but he didn’t know if Sniper could see it or not in the near-darkness.“Dunno.”

A brief pause.“You’ve seen him without it, haven’t you?”

Scout had to try really hard not to laugh.“No comment.”

“I’d ask what he looks like, but I bet you’ve been sworn to secrecy, yeah?”

“No comment,” Scout repeated, still grinning.

“Well, he wouldn’t be wearin’ that getup every day if he didn’t want his privacy, I suppose,” Sniper said.By that time, they had reached the side door of the camper.Sniper unlocked it and they climbed inside.

It was cold in there, too, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was outside.Not quite warm enough for Scout to shed his hat or his jacket, though.

This was the coldest night they’d had this year.Before, the inside of the camper had just been a little chilly—nothing too bad, even by Sniper’s standards.But this was something else.Scout was half-surprised he couldn’t see his breath in here, too.

“This thing’s a frickin’ ice box, Snipes,” Scout said as he turned on the tableside lamp.“How the hell’re ya gonna sleep in here?”

“I’ve got a heater,” Sniper called, his voice slightly muffled as he riffled around in the shallow supply closet adjacent to the bathroom.“Somewhere.”

Scout grabbed the TV remote off the coffee table and flopped down on the couch, situating himself in a position that hopefully said “I’m not trying to be seductive, here, but it’s totally cool if you wanna cuddle or something.” _The Tonight Show_ was about to come on, but he didn’t turn on the TV just yet; he wasn’t through yelling across the room at his boyfriend.

Boyfriend.Heh.That still sounded weird. 

“I usedta sleep in weather colder than this all the time, though,” Scout hollered.He hauled his feet up to the couch, only to remember a half-second later that Sniper always griped at him when he put them there before taking his shoes off.He kicked his Chuck Taylors off his feet, then dug his heels into the couch cushion. 

There was a dull _fwump_ sound, like something soft had fallen from the supply closet—a blanket or a pillow, maybe.Scout couldn’t see anything, since the kitchen cabinet was blocking his view, but he heard Sniper grunt as he dug around in the closet.

“Back in Boston, I take it?” Sniper called.

Scout’s stomach twinged at the mention of his hometown.He’d never admit it in a jillion years, but he was pretty homesick.Sure, he missed his Ma and his brothers, but he ached for a whole lot more than that.Fenway Park, the way the leaves changed in Autumn, the briny smell that wafted off the harbor…

Wow, thinking about all that crap _really_ wasn’t helping him out, here.

“Uh-huh,” Scout replied, banishing all the negative thoughts and bad vibes to the back of his mind.“We had central heat in the apartment, but Ma wouldn’t let us run it much ‘cause ‘ _it’s too expensive_.’So she’d pile like ten blankets on toppa us and tuck us in so tight we couldn’t breathe, practically.When I woke up the next day I’d still be in the same exact position I went to sleep in ‘cause I couldn’t frickin’ move.”

“That might be what I’ve gotta—wait, no, here it is.” 

Sniper emerged from the little closet carrying a two-foot-long electric heater.“Found it.”

The cord wasn't very long, and wall outlets were (unsurprisingly) scare inside a camper van, so he was forced to sit the heater on top of the TV. 

“Y’think that’ll catch fire up there?” Sniper said.

“You’re askin’ the wrong person about that, babe,” Scout replied.It briefly occurred to him that he’d never called Sniper by that pet name before, but what the hell.The way he saw it, if he told Sniper ‘I love you’ every time he saw him, calling the man ‘babe’ was like…a step _down_ from that.Probably.

Scout could only imagine what Sniper’s reaction to the new (albeit unintentional) nickname was, because when he said it, Sniper’s back was turned to him as he fiddled with the heater.The coils within the heater faded from a dead black into a warm orange as it hummed to life.The smell of burning dust filled the room, which was a scent that unearthed old memories in and of itself.Again, Scout sent these thoughts to the back of his brain before he had much time to dwell on them.

Once he got the heater going, Sniper turned around to face him.“Reckon it’ll be fine,” Sniper said, then walked over to the couch and sat down.Scout had been hoping Sniper would snuggle into his arms, rest his head in his lap, _some_ thing.But Sniper was sitting up ramrod straight a good eight inches away from Scout, his shoulders stiff and his jaw tight.

_Somethin’s up._

“Hey, whassa matter?” Scout said, never really one for beating around the bush.He leaned a little closer, but was careful not to touch.He needed to gauge the situation a little better before he got all touchy-feely, he knew that.

Sniper scratched at his wrist.“Er.Nothin’.Just.”

Scout raised his eyebrows inquisitively.“Just?”

Finally, Sniper turned his head to look over at Scout.He had that look he always got when something was on his mind.“It’s nothin’, love, really.Ain’t your show about to come on?”

“Tryin’ to change the subject on me, huh?” Scout said, giving Sniper’s arm a playful shove.That garnered a reluctant grin from Sniper, which was what Scout had been hoping for.“Really, though, what’s up?”

Sniper sighed.“I’ve just…been…thinkin’ abou’ a couple things.”

“‘Kay, like what?”

“Like…”Sniper sighed again.“Like how…there’re some things abou’ me I haven’t told you yet.”

That could mean a whole lot of different things, but the way Sniper said it was troubling, to say the least.Whatever it was, Scout doubted it’d be anything good—he wouldn’t be looking so tense and upset if it was.

“Things ya haven’t told me about?” Scout said.“I ain’t exactly toldja _my_ whole life story, neither, I mean—just ‘cause I love you, that don’t mean ya gotta tell me every little thing about yourself.Some of it ain’t my business.”He’d like to _think_ it was his business, since they were—boyfriends? lovers? romantic partners?—but it really wasn’t.As much as he’d like to gain knowledge of every little thing within Sniper’s brain, to put it in his own brain for safekeeping, he wasn’t entitled to do that.

“It is,” Sniper said.“It is your business.It ain’t fair I haven’t told you yet.But there’re things I hadn’t wanted to tell you, ‘cause…well.They’re embarrassin’, for one.’N’ for another, it’s…I don’t much reckon you’ll wanna put up wiv me after you hear some of these things.You put up wiv me enough as it is, but when you hear the reasonin’ behind it, you’ll know…”He shrugged.“That that’s just how it is.It ain’t gonna get no better.’S’ probably only gonna get worse, actually.’N’ I wanna tell you abou’ ‘em so…so you can…find someone else, if…if it’s too much.”

Oh.So whatever Sniper thought was so bad about himself, whatever Sniper thought Scout had a right to know, was apparently so serious that Scout might leave him for it.A twinge of worry fluttered in Scout’s gut, but it only lasted for a couple seconds.Sniper wasn’t what you’d call _dramatic_ , per se, but his perception of others’ emotions was often off.True, Sniper might _think_ Scout would leave him for whatever it was he was about to say, but in reality, Sniper’s issue could be something commonplace and mundane.That was normally the case.

Again, Scout wanted so badly to reach out and take Sniper’s hand, to let him know it was okay with just a touch, but that would likely have the adverse effect right now.He allowed himself to scoot a little closer to Sniper on the couch, to lean in a bit more, but no more than that.That’d be plenty.

“Well, tell me about it, then,” Scout said simply, shifting his bad leg around until he fumbled it into a decently comfortable position. 

Sniper inhaled slowly.Held it in his lungs.Exhaled through his nose.

“Okay.”

Sniper knew all about how Scout had ended up with a job offer from RED—the addiction to painkillers, the overdose, the near-death experience that Miss Pauling saved him from.But Scout had never known about how Sniper had ended up here.Obviously Scout had been curious about it, but he’d never asked.He’d always just assumed it was for a reason Sniper wasn’t comfortable sharing.

But Sniper was sharing it with him now.

Sniper told him about his early days, starting with his adoptive father teaching him how to shoot a rifle from a young age.He was good at it, even when he was young.He used that skill along with his extensive knowledge of the Australian bush to make a decent amount of money.That’s how he supported himself; he’d never had what he kept calling a “real job.”

As time went by, though, people started talking about him, thinking he was weird for not getting one of these alleged “real jobs.”Even his beloved parents started dropping hints about it.His ma had made him go get a newspaper, to look in the help wanted ads, just to see if there was something his nerves could endure.

But he hadn’t even been able to buy the paper, let alone look at it.He’d had the worst panic attack of his life in a dirty gas station bathroom instead, one that was so bad it made him put his whole life in perspective.So bad, in fact, that he decided he’d kill himself. 

The very moment he decided to end his life, Miss Pauling had stepped in to intervene, thereby changing the course of his life forever.

Sniper never actually said the word “panic attack” when he told all of this to Scout, but it was clear that’s what he was suffering from.Scout’s brother Tommy got those really bad, too.Come to think of it, that was probably why Scout was so good at dealing with Sniper when he started getting worked up about something—he’d had to see Tommy go through a lot of the exact same stuff.And since he and Scout were the two brothers closest in age and Ma was always busy working her two jobs, Scout had spent a lot of time trying to calm Tommy down and bring him back to reality.He had half a mind to tell Sniper about this, but he had a feeling that’d just make things worse.

Scout couldn’t help it anymore.He reached over and grabbed one of Sniper’s hands, pulling it into his lap.He ran his fingertips over the top of Sniper’s hand in useless patterns.

“Didja really think all that was gonna make me _mad_?” Scout said, trying to keep his voice tender without it getting too patronizing.“I don’t—well, I was gonna say _I don’t care_ , but that ain’t true, ‘cause I _do care_ about it.So your nerves are bad, and ya ain’t good with people and stuff.That ain’t a big deal to me.”After he said that last part, Scout winced a little.That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, exactly.“Hang on, lemme rephrase that.It’s like—it don’t _bother_ me, is what I mean.It’s a big deal ‘cause it bothers _you_ , but it doesn’t make me wanna _end_ everything with ya.”He offered Sniper a slight smile.“I’d be a pretty shitty boyfriend if it did.”

Sniper ran his free hand through his hair.“I haven’t even told you abou’ me glasses.”

Scout furrowed his brow.“Whassa matter with your glasses?”

“The lenses’re tinted yellow to help wiv shootin’, but they’re not just shootin’ glasses, they’re bleedin’ _prescription._ I’ve worn glasses since I was a kid, I’m—one eye’s nearsighted ’n’ the other’s farsighted, ’n’ I’ve got astigmatism on toppa all that—Miss Pauling suggested the shootin’ glasses instead of me regular ones, ’n’ I just—whoever heard of a sniper who needs _glasses_ , I don’t even—everything looks so odd without the yellow now, ’s’ like I’ve ruined me eyes even more, but how’ve I gone this long without tellin’ you abou’ this, see what I mean, it—“

He wasn’t making a lot of sense, but Scout let him talk without interrupting.  It seemed to be helping.  Scout had always been of the opinion that talking was a good thing, that it helped to drag all the bad shit up to the surface—even if one-quarter of what Sniper was saying was just gibberish.  Sniper always listened to _him_ when he rattled on and on, so the least he could do was return the favor.

“—Can’t even take me anywhere.You need somebody you can take places ’n’ have _fun_ wiv, not me.I’m no fun at all, just—just take right now as an example, we’re sittin’ here in this freezin’-arse camper listenin’ to me carry on.It’s Friday night, for fuck’s sake!You’re only twenty-four, Kenicky, it’s not too late for you to go out ’n’ enjoy your life.You should be out there havin’ fun, not stuck in here wiv an old man like me.”With his free hand he took his glasses off, sat them on the coffee table, and rubbed at his eyes.

“Think about what you’re sayin’ for a second, though,” Scout said.“You’re sayin’ I needa go out and have fun, but what would I be doin’?Bar-hoppin’?Drinkin’?Y’know I don’t drink.Nah, scratch that, I _can’t_ drink.I think if I even _smelled_ liquor I’d…do sum’n stupid.”

Sniper looked over at him, eyes slightly squinted.He looked like a part of him wanted to argue with that, but when he didn’t, Scout continued.

“That’s what you’re not gettin’, I don’t think,” Scout said, clasping both of his hands around Sniper’s now.“You got your hangups, but I got mine, too.If I didn’t—if it wasn’t for you, who the hell knows what I’d be doin’ right now?I’d been doin’ pretty good, stayin’ away from all that crap I need to stay away from, but that was _before_ my leg got bad again.Sometimes I can’t even sleep at night, it hurts so frickin’ bad.Y’know how much I’d love to have a codeine, or two, or twenty? 

And it ain’t just pills, like—like back home when I ran outta pills and couldn’t get anymore, I’d go to my grandma’s house across town.I’d steal whiskey outta her liquor cabinet, just sum’n to dull the pain and the withdrawals a little bit.Shit, I—I stole twenty bucks right outta her purse one time, actually.”Scout bit his lower lip.He’d forgotten about that until just now. 

“Sometimes it’s temptin’.Real, real temptin’.Y’know how easy it’d be to go down into Teufort and start that shit all over again?I can spot a dealer from a mile away, they all got this _look_ , y’know, it wouldn’t take me two seconds to have both pockets full.And now I ain’t got money to stop me, neither.I could buy whatever I wanted and however much of it, too.”

Sniper’s eyes had drifted down to stare somewhere around Scout’s collarbone.

“Look at me,” Scout murmured.

( _Look at me, look at me, look at me._ )

Sniper looked.

“All that shit might be temptin’, but I’d never do it again.Never.Know why I wouldn’t?‘Cause…”Scout cracked a faint mile before it faded from his face.“‘Cause I got you now.I’d never wanna put ya through…y’know.Seein’ me like that.It ain’t a pretty picture, trust me when I tell ya.So when ya say ya want me to go out and have fun?”Scout shook his head.“I don’t do your typical ‘Friday night’ bullshit no more, that’ll just get me in trouble.Stayin’ in with you, just hangin’ out and watchin’ TV or sum’n, that’s way better.”

“But remember last week when you wanted to go to the movie theater ’n’ I backed out at the last minute ’n'…” Sniper trailed off.

“So?” Scout said.“When me and you were just friends, ya used to keep beer in your fridge.And now ya don’t.”

Sniper looked guilty.“I didn’t want you to be tempted,” he muttered.

“And it’s a good thing ya ain’t got any in your fridge!‘Cause you’re right, I prob’ly _would_ be tempted!See that, ya can’t keep beer in your own frickin’ refrigerator cause I ain’t responsible enough to even _look_ at it.”

“That’s different,” Sniper said, voice so low it was nearly a whisper.

“It’s not, though,” Scout said, reaching a hand up to brush his thumb across Sniper’s cheek before dropping it back down to his lap.“Ya think I’d be better off with somebody else, but that ain’t true.I need _you_.And I know ya feel bad about it, but…maybe _you_ need _me_.Is that so bad?Me and you…helpin’ each other out like that?” 

Sniper looked like he was letting all of that sink in.Scout kept quiet, letting him mull it all over in silence.He wouldn’t push Sniper to answer him if he didn’t want to.

But Scout did have to break the silence to say one thing.

“I love you,” he said.

Sniper nodded.Swallowed.Nodded again.

“Love you, too.”

Scout wanted to say something to that, but he refrained.He let about another minute of silence pass between them before he spoke again.

“Ya love me, huh?” Scout murmured, a grin crossing his face.

“Yeah.‘Course.”

“And y’know I love you, don’tcha?”

Sniper hesitated a moment before he said, “Yeah.I know.”

“So that’s kinda leadin’ me to believe we love each other, am I right?”

Sniper’s mouth twitched like he might possibly smile, but he didn’t quite manage it.“Reckon so.”

“So if we love each other, and we’re both helpin’ each other out with our problems…I’m kinda not seein’ where I need to kick your ass to the curb and find me a new boyfriend, over here.”

That time, Sniper did allow himself a barely-there smile.“Point taken.”

“Yeah, you say that, but I can tell by that look on your face you’re still sour.”  Scout reached up, grabbed either side of Sniper’s shirt collar, and tugged the man down to his eye level.

He made a conscious effort to open his mouth, so that his breath would dance across Sniper’s lips.The urge to kiss him was almost too much to resist, but he controlled himself—barely.

“Gimme some sugar, Legs,” he whispered, their lips only an inch or so apart.

To his surprise (and gratitude), Sniper did not hesitate to mesh their mouths together.

 

****

 

It'd been a long time—like a _long_ time—since Scout had made out with anybody for that long.

To be honest, it took him back to middle school, when girls were too shy to do anything but kiss and, if he was lucky, let him touch their boobs over their shirt.There was a lot more kissing and a lot less _other stuff_ back then.When he got to high school, he’d actually been pretty surprised that a lot of girls were just as hormonally horny as he was; the amount of time spent making out had dramatically lessened.

Which was a shame, actually, because Scout loved kissing.

When it came to Sniper, he had to throw all his previous experience out the window, because this man was unlike anyone he’d ever been with.For one, he was a _man_.The most he’d ever done with a dude was kissing, and he wasn’t totally sure he’d know _how_ to do anything further than that.

But even if he did know how to do the do with a dude, he wouldn’t rush it with Sniper.Scout had never been this way before, but he actually wanted to put off the whole sex thing until the moment was perfect.

Also, he’d like to put off the whole sex thing until he actually figured out how to _do_ it, too.He had a general idea, but he had a few…concerns.Unless there was a how-to book in the “adults only” section of the Yellow Lemon bookstore, he’d have to suck it up and ask somebody.

Doc would probably be able to explain it.

Ah, God, he didn’t even wanna think about getting a sex ed lesson from Doc.But if he wanted to know how to do it right instead of purely guessing, he might have to ask.

He’d definitely look at Yellow Lemon for a how-to book, first, though.

He kissed Sniper for so long, his lips started to feel weird—a little bit numb and tender.That had only happened to him once before, when he had an hour-long makeout session with Alice Smith back in seventh grade.Sniper had been the one that ended the kiss, though he did so reluctantly.

“Sorry,” Sniper said, “I’ve gotta piss so bad, me eyeballs’re floatin’.”

“How _ever_ did I find a guy as romantic as you,” Scout said, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.

Sniper disentangled himself from Scout’s arms and stood up.“Got lucky, I suppose.”

Ah, good.Sniper’s dry humor was returning.Maybe he was feeling a little better now.“That’s one way to describe it.”

Before Sniper turned around and headed back to the bathroom, Scout couldn’t help but flick his eyes down to the bulge in Sniper’s pants.It was hard to tell anything with certainty, but at the very least, Sniper’s dick wasn’t _small_.By Scout’s rough estimation, it was at least average-size—then again, just looking at the tent in a guy’s pants won’t tell you much.His own schlong wasn’t anything to write home about, just your standard six inches, but it got the job done just fine. 

As he watched Sniper walk back to the bathroom, he wondered what Sniper looked like down there.Weren’t people with big feet supposed to have bigger dicks?Sniper’s feet were frickin’ huge, they were like a size 16 or something.Then again, Scout’s feet were a size 5-and-a-half, so maybe shoe size and dong size were completely unrelated. 

_Stop thinkin’ about dicks_.

He needed to get rid of this boner before Sniper came back, to lessen the awkwardness.To do that, all he had to do was think about Miss Myrna, the lunch lady from his high school that breathed through a tube stuck in her larynx.Every day when Scout breezed through her lunch line, his eyes zeroed in on her throat-tube, which never failed to be ringed with some kind of crusty yellow substance.Just thinking about Miss Myrna’s throat-tube-crust was more than enough to shrivel up Scout Junior pretty quick. 

“Ugh,” he said aloud.  He hadn’t had to think about that in awhile.  Why hadn't she tried to chip that shit offa there?  A better question:  what _was_ it?  Pus?  Didn’t she ever wash around that thing?  _Could_ you wash around that thing?  Or would she drown?

In any case, his boner-be-gone strategy had been effective.By the time Sniper made it back to the couch, he’d composed himself.

“Let’s watch TV,” Scout said, grabbing the remote from in between the couch cushions and turning it on.The screen phased into life just in time to play the last few notes of the _Brady Bunch_ theme song.

“Ya ever watch this show, Snipes?” Scout asked as he burrowed his way back into Sniper’s arms.“It’s kinda dumb in a way, but—ohhhh my God, are ya frickin’ kiddin’ me, this is my favorite episode!”He shifted around a little to get a better view of the screen.“This is the one with George Glass!”

“It’s only been on for _five seconds_ ,” Sniper said, resting his chin atop Scout’s head.“How the hell can you tell which episode it is already?”

“‘Cause I’ve seen it a hundred times and I know how it starts,” Scout said simply.“Have ya seen this one before?”

“I could probably count on one hand how many times I’ve seen this show, honestly.”

“Seriously?It’s the Brady Bunch, dude, I thought everybody liked the Brady Bunch!”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I just haven’t watched it much.  Hang on, I don’t recognize that kid, which one is he?”

“Ah, he ain’t one a the Bradys, he’s like some dude Jan’s got a crush on.”

“So that’s George Glass, then?”

“No, that ain’t—just watch the thing, Snipes, you’ll get it.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for _you_ to talk when the tele’s on, but when _I_ try to say somethin’, we need to be quiet and pay attention to it.”

“Ya do if ya wanna know what’s goin’ on!”

“Who’s that there, is that Marcia?”

“Now I know you’re screwin’ with me, ‘cause if ya watched this show more than once in your lifetime you’d know that was _Jan_.”

“Jan’s the dramatic one, right?”

Scout laughed.“Yeah, that’s Jan.She’s _real_ dramatic in this one, like there’s this part where she rubs a lemon all over her face and it cracks me up, I swear.”

“Why does she rub a lemon on her face?”

“‘Cause she thinks it’ll get rid a her freckles—just watch the thing, geez Louise, Snipes!”

Sniper fell silent until the show gave way to a commercial break.“Why would anybody wanna get rid of their freckles?” he said while an advertisement for some kind of perfume played. 

“Lotsa people think freckles are ugly, I guess,” Scout said bitterly.The freckles on his face and arms practically blended into his skin and you couldn’t see them unless you were really trying to, but the rest of his body wasn’t quite so lucky.Did Sniper know about his freckles?Other than the barely-there ones on his face and arms?Scout didn’t think Sniper did, but he could be wrong.

“I sawr the freckles on your shoulder, once,” Sniper said. 

“Yeah, when was that?”

“While back, when it rained so hard—the first time we played a board game wiv Pyro.  You were wearin’ some shirt that was way too big for you and it kept slippin’ off your shoulder.”

“Oh yeah, the Sox jersey I wear to bed sometimes.”

“I think freckles’re right cute.”

Scout wanted to pull back and look Sniper in the eye, but he didn’t want to dislodge Sniper’s chin from the top of his head; the weight of it was somehow really calming.

“For real?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well I got _great_ news for ya, babe, ‘cause I am _covered_ in freckles.  Ya oughta see my frickin’ back, man, you could play connect-the-dots on it.”

Scout felt more than heard Sniper’s laughter.  “I’m sure I’ll see it someday.”

Sniper tensed, apparently realizing the suggestive nature of his comment.Scout was grinning so wide, his face was aching.

“Ooo-ooh, you’ll _see_ it someday, huh?”He drummed his fingers across Sniper’s thigh.

“Oi, the—the show’s back on, we’re missin’ Marcia brushin’ her hair in front of the mirror, look.”

_He’s so bad at trying to change the subject_ , Scout thought, but he didn’t say anything in reply.He’d quit his teasing for now. 

_I love this man.Even if he does worry too much._

It was still weird to think he was _in love_ with somebody, but he was.Weirder still that the object of his affections loved him back.Their relationship might have its flaws, but it was perfect in its own right.Scout wouldn't change a thing about it.

(Okay, that wasn’t true.He’d make himself a few inches taller, so he could smooch Sniper whenever he wanted without having to grab him by the shirt collar.But other than that, it was perfect.)

His Ma and his brothers probably wouldn’t like the two of them being together, but hey.He’d worry about that later.Right now all he had to do was snuggle deeper into Sniper’s arms and watch Marcia comb her cornsilk hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some serious writer's block when I tried to write this chapter. I thought I wasn't gonna make my 'deadline' I set for myself of getting one chapter written per week, but I ended up finishing it in time!!
> 
> I don't know when this story is gonna end, exactly. At this point it's obvious I started writing it with no end goal in mind, and as a matter of fact I still don't have one tbh. It's sorta evolved to have a more episodic plot than anything, but I guess that's ok. 
> 
> I have an idea for the next chapter, but if I wrote it, it'd be pure filler. I doubt it'd contribute any new info or have any interesting conflict. It'd just be a fun lil thing I wanted to write. I don't know if I'll do that or not, though, I'm still thinking on it. If it IS just filler, I'll make sure to write that in the beginning chapter notes. That way, you can just skip over it if you don't wanna read it. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this story. I know it's gotten a lil bit long in the tooth, but thank you so so so much for taking time out of your day to keep reading it. It seriously makes me so happy and means a lot (:


	21. Chapter 21

“Hey.”

Sniper peeled his eyes away from the paperback he held in his hand and looked down at the head resting in his lap.“Mm?”

“Know what I was just thinkin’ about?”

“What?”

“There’s a very important date comin’ up,” Scout said.“ _Two_ very important dates, actually.Remember what they are?”

“Suppose you’re meanin’ our birthdays bein’ this week, yeah?”

Scout grinned.“Yeah.So what’re we doin’, we celebratin’ twice or just doin’ one big thing?We ain’t got a lotta time to plan.”

Sniper dogeared the current page in his book and closed it, sitting it aside for the time being.“To be honest, I don’t usually do anything on me birthday.”

“Well, now ya got somebody to celebrate with, though,” Scout said, reaching a hand up to fumble idly with one of the buttons on Sniper’s vest.“I ain’t talkin’ about, like, hats and balloons and shit, I just mean…we could do sum’n.Me and you.”

_That doesn’t sound too bad_ , Sniper thought.

“I don’t see why not,” Sniper said.He scratched at the stubble dotting his jaw.“What sort of thing would we…d’you have anything in mind?”

Scout grinned up at him again, and this time the look was accompanied by a hint of mischief.  “I been thinkin’ about it, actually.”

_Course he has_ , Sniper thought, feeling his own lips curl into a smile.“Have you?”

“Yeah.Ya’d have to take off work this Friday, though.I wonder if ya’d be able to.”

“Doubt it.We’re already a man short on the team as it is.”

Scout’s face fell.“Aw, yeah.Forgot about that.Nah, Miss P prob’ly won’t letcha off, then, never mind.”

_Aw,_ Sniper thought, looking down at the crumpled look on Scout’s face. _He looks so disappointed._

“Just—just outta curiosity,” Sniper said, trying and failing to coat his voice with a conversational tone, “what were you thinkin’ about us doin’ for our birthdays that involved me takin’ a day off?”

“It’s kinda dumb, I guess,” Scout said sheepishly, “but I think we woulda had fun.Uh, I was thinkin’, y’know—we leave early Friday mornin’ and drive this thing up to Area 51.I looked it up, it’d only take us like ten-and-a-half hours to get there from here.Pyro collects maps, I dunno if ya knew that—“

“I did not know that.”

“—Yeah, I dunno why but he’s crazy about ‘em.We checked it on like three different maps, just to be sure.We could get there in ten-and-a-half hours, we’d make it by nighttime.”

“Did you factor in stoppin’ for gas ’n’ piss breaks ’n’ meals ’n’ all?”

Once again, Scout’s face fell.“Oh, uh, no.Forgot about all that stuff.”

“We’d probably make it there in abou’ thirteen hours, then.”

Scout held his hands up and counted out thirteen on his fingers.“So if we left at six o’ clock _Saturday_ morning,” he said, his smile ever-widening, “we’d get there somewhere around seven at night—that’s about what time it gets dark.Perfect for stargazin’.”

“We’d have to get up at six on Sunday mornin’, also,” Sniper said, “to be back here by evenin’.”

Scout scrambled to a sitting position on the couch, physically unable to keep still any longer.His right leg began to jiggle.He grabbed Sniper by the forearm, as if Sniper might try to scurry away from him. 

“So you’re really thinkin’ about this?” Scout said, his blue eyes big and bright and glittering.

“Well, it’s—wouldn’t you rather wait until we’ve got more time to enjoy ourselves?Drivin’ twenty-six hours in just one weekend’s a pretty tall order, love.”

“Half the fun is gettin’ there, though, ain’t it?” Scout insisted.“We can listen to the radio, we can _talk_ , we can play that alphabet game, y’know, the one where ya look for letters of the alphabet on street signs and license plates and shit…it’d be fun, I know it would be.”

Sniper didn’t like the idea of embarking on a trip with such strict time constraints.What if something went wrong?If there was any sort of mishap, even a minor one, he’d probably end up missing work the following Monday.And in Sniper’s case, missing work without prior consent from one’s boss could end up being deadly.

But there was the look on Scout’s face to consider.God, he was excited.Sniper didn’t know _why_ —thirty minutes into the car ride and Scout would be bored to tears, no doubt—but he was.Sniper figured a part of it was symbolic, because Scout was a man who took stock in sentimental sorts of things.This’d be the first time they got the chance to celebrate their birthdays together.Scout probably felt like they needed to do something special for the occasion, something memorable.

Truth be told, Sniper would be perfectly content celebrating with a take-away pizza, maybe even a cake, and flipping through the tele channels looking for something good to watch.He wasn’t a very complicated man in that regard.

But it was obvious that this grand scheme Scout had cooked up meant a lot to him.He’d gone so far as to count up the number of hours it’d take for them to get there by using three different maps.This had been on Scout’s mind for awhile, it must’ve been.

So, say they did go and nothing went wrong.  No car trouble, no traffic jams, no bad weather.  They’d get up there around seven at night, they’d look at the sky for a few hours…and then they’d be headed right back to Teufort early the next morning.  They’d essentially be driving twenty-six hours round-trip just to look at the sky for a few hours.  Wasn’t that a bit silly?

Another look at Scout’s hopeful face made Sniper think otherwise.

_I’d be breakin’ his little heart if we didn’t go_.

“If you wanna go, we’ll go,” Sniper said.

“For real?!” Scout wailed, shaking Sniper’s arm.“I know it’s short notice, I totally get that.But I got a good feelin’ about this, Snipes.Like I know we ain’t got a lotta time to enjoy it up there, but I just—I just really wanna go, y’know?This is gonna be our first together-birthday-whatever ya call it, we should do sum’n _good_.Sum’n we’ll remember.”

“I know,” Sniper nodded.

“We’ll have fun, for real.We’ll look for aliens.”

“’N’ if we find any aliens, I’ve got a night-vision camera to take a picture o’ those sneaky bastards.”

Scout planted a loud, wet kiss on Sniper’s cheek.“This is gonna be awesome,” he said, “I can feel it.”

Sniper, ever the pessimist, wasn’t so sure about that—there was just too much that could go wrong.But it was hard to feel worried about the impromptu trip when Scout was so excited about it.

Maybe he’d be surprised.Maybe things would turn out okay after all.

 

****

 

If there was one thing Scout prided himself on, it was that he had very little shame.He marched behind the black curtain at the back of the Yellow Lemon bookstore with his head held high. 

He walked into a room that was much larger than he thought it’d be.The whole time he’d pictured the “adults only” section of the bookstore, he’d just imagined one or two folding tables with some raunchy books and skin mags stacked on top of it.The room he was in had shelves and aisles, it was so big.Who knew there needed to be that many different kinds of porno?

The room mainly consisted of naughty pulp fiction novels, which wasn’t surprising, since this _was_ a bookstore, after all.But Scout wasn’t looking for leisurely reading material, he was looking for…

…Well, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he was looking for, actually.

At the very back of the room, at the very end of the very last aisle, was a set of shelves labeled “GAY/LESBIAN/OTHER.”Scout made a beeline for it.If what he was looking for was anywhere, it’d be right over there.

Now, normally, Scout didn’t like to read anything without full-color artwork and speech bubbles and ass-kicking, but he might have to make an exception for a couple of these.Some of them just looked ridiculous, whereas the intricately-drawn covers of others looked downright hot.Maybe if Scout read one of the hot-looking ones, he could learn a thing or two…

Learning something was exactly what he was aimed to do.Scout may’ve been born at night, but he wasn't born _last_ night.Two boyfriends, all alone in the middle of nowhere, sharing a bed?Chances were pretty high that they’d end up doing it.

Only problem with that was, Scout didn't know _how_ to do it with a dude.He was hoping he might come across a how-to book in here somewhere.If there wasn’t one, he guessed his next-best choice really was one of those steamy pulp fictions.Maybe one of them detailed how to go about it.

Lots of photo books of your typical muscle-men rubbing all over each other, but they didn’t do much for Scout.Muscles were all well and good, but they were kinda _boring_.Too predictable, so normal they became abnormal.Muscly dudes weren’t really Scout’s type.He preferred tall…lanky…a little pudge around the middle…glasses… _sideburns_ …

There weren’t any normal-looking dudes in any of the books he’d picked up so far.They were all meatheads.Most of the books could’ve been sold as “straight” porn, if it weren’t for the few photos where the models posed in suggestive positions with other men.It wasn’t even all that risqué, other than the fact that it was two guys in the picture instead of a guy and a lady.

Scout was thoroughly bored of looking at books when he decided he’d flip through a few more.  He hated coming all this way to Yellow Lemon and not finding what he was really after.  He picked another hardback book at random and pulled it off the shelf.

When he read the title of the book, Scout’s eyebrows shot up:  “ _The Subtle Art of Male Lovemaking: How to Please and Be Pleased.”_

“Huh,” Scout muttered under his breath.“That is…oddly specific.”

He cracked the book open and thumbed through the pages, turning to the first chapter:

_“Chapter One: Getting Started_

_If you’re reading this book right now, chances are you’ve got a few questions about how to get groovy with your man.”_

Scout snorted. _“Getting groovy.”_ Sounded like something Mister Rogers would say, or something.

_“…assumes you know nothing at all about having sex with a man.But don’t worry!This chapter covers everything you need to know_ before _you and your guy get frisky under the sheets._

_The first thing we’ll go over is preparation.This is a step a lot of people skip over, but don’t take it lightly!Preparation is key!Getting ready for sex is much, much more than just foreplay._

_Sex is messy work, so be aware of that and plan accordingly.If you don’t want to wash your sheets a hundred times a week, I recommend lying down a towel or two to…”_

Yeah, yeah, Scout knew all that already.He skipped ahead a few pages and was greeted with much more graphic content.

_“…but no two people are alike.Apply a small amount of lube to the outside of the anus to make sure you’re not allergic to whatever you’re using._

_Oil-based lubes are a good go-to if you’re too bashful to purchase ‘real’ lubricant from the sex shop, but be aware that it weakens latex—so don’t use oil-based products with a latex condom, in other words.I recommend giving vegetable shortening a try, or coconut oil if your local supermarket carries it…”_

Huh.How ‘bout that.Scout could honestly say he’d never envisioned slicking his ass up with Crisco before.

Well, he wanted a how-to book, and he sure as hell got one.He had a lot to learn in…what was it, four days?It was Tuesday afternoon, and he and Sniper left for their little trip Saturday morning, so he actually had closer to _three_ days to get it read.It was almost a good thing he wasn’t working right now, otherwise he might not have time to take a crash-course in dude sex.

He stuck the book under his arm, ducked back through the black curtain, and headed for the checkout line.He smiled to himself as he thought about what the cashier’s face was gonna look like when he handed this book over. 

 

****

 

Rule number one of camping is to always be prepared for the worst.And in order to do that, Sniper had to gather up his nerve and ask for a bit of help from a friend.

“You mean to tell me you ain’t got a heater in that thing, Slim?” Engineer asked, hands on his hips as he stared up at the Winnebago.

Sniper ground the toe of his boot into the dirt.“Me old one didn’t have one either ’n’ I got by just fine.Had a little electric one I plugged in, ’n’ it was good enough to suit me.But, er…I’m goin’ campin’ in it this weekend, ’n’ I’d like to put a heater in.Dunno if there’ll be any utility lines where I’m goin’.I doubt it.”

“Yeah,” Engineer drawled, “these desert nights get mighty cold.Don’t reckon it’d be comfortable without a heater.How many pounds of propane does your tank hold?”

“Thirty.”

“That’s big enough to run the heater all night and do all your other doin’s for about two _weeks_ , ain’t it?”

“Unless Scout takes an hour-long shower, or something,” Sniper mused, trying to do some mental math in his mind about how much propane they’d be using on their trip.He was so engrossed in his figuring that he almost didn’t realize what he’d just said. 

Ah, piss.How could he’ve let something like that slip?He’d really have to watch what he said from now on—he didn’t know how the rest of RED would take the news that two of their teammates were…an item.At least it had only been Truckie he’d blurted it out to.He was a good bloke who kept his nose in his own business.Truckie might not condone his and Scout’s relationship, but Sniper doubted the man would make a big fuss about it.

Be that as it may, Sniper could feel a blush creeping up his neck.

“Oh, you’re takin’ Skeeter with you, huh?” Engineer said.Sniper wasn’t quite sure whether he heard genuine curiosity or accusation in Engineer’s voice.

Sniper’s head felt like was full of molasses.It was taking him forever to piece together what Truckie was attempting to tell him because he was so engrossed in trying to read the man’s tone.It took him a beat to realize Engineer’s question wasn’t a rhetorical one.

“Yeah,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound nervous.(He probably did, though, he knew that.)“We’re just—it’s—he ain’t ever been campin’ before—city slicker, ’n’ all—he wanted to tag along."

It wasn’t a _lie_ , per se, it was just an ever-so-slight twist of the truth.  Nothing wrong with that.

Only Engineer wasn’t an idiot.Truckie’s welding goggles made it impossible to read his eyes, but Sniper had no trouble taking in his amused smirk and raised eyebrows.

“It’s alright, Slim, you ain’t gotta tell me nothin’,” Engineer said.“Though I _am_ gonna say one thing, and you can take it however ya wanna take it.Just some food for thought.”

Sniper didn’t like the sound of that, but all he could do was nod.“Okay.”

“I know Scout’s gotta be at least ten years younger’n you, but he’s actually pretty mature for his age.He’s got a lotta experiences under his belt—some of ‘em I wished to death he _didn’t_ have.He’s been through a lot.”

_I know_ , Sniper wanted to say, but he didn’t.He only nodded.

“I’m not gonna go tellin’ his business, ‘cause it ain’t mine to tell, but I don’t think he’d care if I said this to you—his life ain’t been easy.I dunno how much of it he’s told you, but…he’s stronger’n he looks, I’ll put it to you that way.And I had a funny feelin’ he wadn’t interested in girls from the start, but when he started pallin’ around with you ever’ chance he got, I figured he was sweet on you.”

The red flush had engulfed Sniper’s neck and was setting his whole face aflame.There’d be no denying it now, since all anyone would have to do to figure out the truth was look at his current complexion.There was a pause in Engineer’s speech, like he might be waiting for Sniper to say something, but Sniper couldn’t think of a thing to say.He couldn’t even nod his head.

“You don’t like talkin’ ‘bout this kinda thing, I can tell,” Engineer grinned.“Lemme just say one more thing and I’ll hush.”He hooked his thumbs in his overall pockets and stared up at the Winnebago again.“Men takin’ up with men, women takin’ up with women, and everything you got in between…it’s always happened, hell, it even happens in nature with animals and such.People sayin’ it ain’t natural are downright ignorant.”

Sniper raised his eyebrows at that.He hadn’t ever expected Engineer to say something like that, but the man’s words made a lot of sense.It wasn’t like he and Scout were the first two blokes to ever fall in love, definitely not; it was only logical that there’d been non-straight folk since the beginning of bloody time.And he _knew_ the bit about animals was true.He raised sheep half his life.Same-sex “mating” happened quite often, and it never crossed his mind that _that_ was odd.He just chalked it up to Mother Nature.

Engineer gave a little sigh.“But what can you do, most folks _are_ that ignorant.Bein’ in a relationship that’s anything but man-and-woman is gonna be a hard thing to take on, but I think y’all can swing it.Scout needs somebody good and dependable and sensible in his life—somebody like you, Slim.And _you’d_ get a lot a good outta a loudmouth extrovert like Scout.Opposites attractin’, and whatnot.”

Wait, so—so Truckie was _supportive_ of their relationship?Sniper hadn’t expected that, not at all.But having someone in their corner couldn’t really be a bad thing, could it?

“…Thanks for that,” Sniper managed to say.

“Ah, don’t mention it,” Engineer said.“Anyway, back to business.I think I can whip up a little somethin’ in the shop to make a heater for ya, but I’m gonna have to cut a pretty big hole in the side of your camper for ventilation—it’d ruin the warranty on it, ain’t no doubt about that.Might even have to get the paint touched up, but I’ll try to be careful.Whaddya think, still wanna do it?”

Sniper didn’t really care about voiding his warranty.Not to be snotty, but if something horrible happened, he could afford to buy another one.“’S fine,” Sniper said.“I don’t mind cuttin’ a hole.Figured you’d have to do that, anyhow.”

“Well, drive that big thing on into the shop, and I’ll give it a tinker.”

“You could just hop in ’n’ ride back.That way you haven’t got to walk so far.”

“Nah,” Engineer said, patting his belly, “I need the exercise.I’ll meetcha there.”

Sniper unhooked the utility lines from the Winnebago and climbed into the driver’s seat.He was feeling a bit odd, after what Engineer had told him.Truckie hadn’t outright said it, but it felt like he was trying to say he thought Scout and Sniper made a good couple. _Sniper_ thought he and Scout made a good couple, obviously, but he never thought he’d hear another person say it. 

It felt nice.

He drove the Winnie across the backyard and over to Engineer’s garage, the man’s words playing on repeat in his mind.He’d have to tell Scout about it; Scout would be thrilled to know they had the Engineer seal of approval. 

Truckie was an all-round decent bloke, he was.

 

****

 

Scout threw his duffel bag into the back and scrambled into the passenger’s seat, a small green gift bag clutched in his hand.

“Ya want your present now, or ya wanna wait till later?” Scout asked, dangling the bag from a finger and wagging it in Sniper’s direction.“Ya should totally open it now, though.Just sayin’.”

Sniper turned the key in the ignition and the Winnebago roared to life.Scout assumed it would have to have a lot of power to move a literal house-on-wheels down the road, but the deep rumble of the engine still surprised him.It nearly vibrated the gift bag right off his finger.

“Course I want it now,” Sniper said as he plucked the present from Scout’s hand.“Y’want yours?”

“Oh, I thought _this_ ”—he waved his arms around his head in random directions—“was my present!Ya didn’t have to get me nuttin’, for real!”

“It’s only a little somethin’ I’m wantin’ you to have, is all,” Sniper said, pulling a long, slim box from his vest pocket.“Nothin’ much.”

He really hadn’t been expecting Sniper to get him anything, but whatever it was, he was sure he’d love it.Maybe it was something else he’d knitted?Nah, the box was way too small for that.Unless he knitted him a keychain or something.Can you knit keychains? 

“Open yours first, though,” Scout said, grinning.He couldn’t wait to see Sniper’s face when he saw the present he found him.

“Openin’ gifts in front o’ people makes me nervous,” Sniper said, but he was reaching his hand into the bag anyway.

“Don’t be,” Scout assured him.“It’s just me watchin’, no big deal.”

Without any further preamble, Sniper pulled the gift from the bag and held it up.He took one look at it and burst out laughing.

Precisely the reaction Scout was hoping for.

Scout had managed to find a pair of boxer shorts with the Australian flag printed on them.Naturally, his mind immediately turned to Sniper when he saw them and he’d had to buy them.Pretty good birthday gift, right?Much like him, Sniper had more money than he could shake a stick at, so gift-giving was more symbolic than anything.Scout wanted to get him something he’d remember, something he’d crack a smile at every time he saw them.Scout thought he did a decent job of it, based on Sniper’s reaction.

“Where on earth did you find these?” Sniper said, his face still broken out into a grin.He turned the boxer shorts this way and that, admiring the pattern from all angles.

“JCPenney,” Scout said.“I ain’t gettin’ as much exercise as I used to, so my ass is gettin’ too big for mosta my pants.I went there to get me a couple pairs a jeans till I go back to work and lose some weight, and that’s when I saw those.They’ll fit, won’t they?They looked like they’d fit ya.”

“I’m sure they will,” Sniper said, thumbing the size tag in the back of the garment.“Medium’s the size I normally buy for undies.I don’t like ‘em to be all loose ’n’ bunchy in me trousers.”

“Think you’ll wear ‘em?”

“Course.I’ll wear ‘em tomorrow, matter o’ fact.Your turn—open yours.”

Growing up, Scout’s Ma had had to work two jobs just to keep food on the table, so he hadn’t received many presents in his life.That wasn’t to say he _never_ got any, but they’d definitely been few and far between.No matter what was in this gift box—seriously, it could be rocks or dirt or pocket lint—Scout would still be thrilled about it.Sniper thought about him enough to get him something, which was all that mattered.Slowly, savoring the anticipation of it, he eased the lid off the box.

Inside was a necklace.

He pulled the chain from the box and held the pendant in his palm, inspecting it.Well, “pendant” probably wasn’t the right word, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was that dangled from the chain.It was bone white…triangular…sharp…

“Holy shit,” he said, beaming at Sniper, “is this a frickin’ _tooth_?”

“Shark tooth,” Sniper nodded.“Me dad found it at the beach, on the last trip we ever took together.Made it into a necklace ‘cause I thought it might…thought _I_ might…”Sniper shrugged.“Anyhow.I’m not much of a necklace person, ’n’ it’s a shame it’s just sittin’ in the closet doin’ nothin’… _you_ wear necklaces, obviously, so…thought y’might get a kick out of it, at least.”

It might’ve been a cute little story if Sniper hadn’t added the whole “on the last trip we ever took together” part.Sniper might not admit it, but this necklace was something he’d clearly intended to remember his dad by.And he’d given it away to _Scout_.

Suddenly that little yellowish tooth was looking a lot more amazing.

“You haven’t gotta wear it,” Sniper added, when a moment had passed without Scout saying anything.“I know you never take your dog tags off, ’n’ I get it if you won’t want to wear two necklaces at once—“

“I’m gonna wear it, for sure,” Scout said, undoing the necklace’s lobster clasp.He looped the chain around his neck and fastened it.It hung a good three inches above his dog tags, so they wouldn’t be clinking together when he moved, or anything.“How’s it look?”

“It suits you,” Sniper said, smiling.Here lately, Sniper was allowing himself to smile a little more often, but it was always nice to see his lopsided, out-of-practice grin.When he let his true emotion shine through, that smile was warm enough to melt steel.

“I’ll take real good care of it, I promise,” Scout said, reaching up to fumble with the tooth.It was surprisingly sharp at the end and jagged on one edge.“Like, like I won’t wear it to work or nuttin’, I’ll only wear it when I know I ain’t gonna be gettin’ shot at.”

“It’s yours, love, you wear it whenever you want to wear it.”  
  
“Well I don’t wanna _break_ it,” Scout said.“I mean, if your boxers shrink in the dryer or sum’n I can just getcha another pair, but this is one-of-a-kind.I gotta be careful with it, man.”

“Oi, I’m gonna be careful wiv me undies, too.I’ll put ‘em on the gentle cycle ’n’ use fabric softener ’n' all that.”

Scout rolled his eyes at Sniper’s attempt at humor, but he’d have to admit that it was cute.“Really, though.This…this is cool.Like I honestly wasn’t expectin’ ya to get me anything since you’re takin’ me on this trip, I really didn’t.”

He was rewarded with another of Sniper’s smiles.“Glad y’like it.”

Scout thought about leaning over and kissing the man, but he thought that might be a little much.Besides, the Winnie’s windshield and side windows were _huge_.Somebody might see, and that would not be a good thing.

Somehow, Scout got the impression Sniper was thinking the exact same thing.He didn’t know why; might be the look in Sniper’s eyes.Whatever it was, there seemed to be some kind of unspoken communication that passed between the two of them.It said _I’d like to kiss you right now but we better not_.Or something like that.

“Buckle up, gremlin,” Sniper said, placing his gift bag in the floorboard between their two seats.  As Scout did as he was told, Sniper cranked the window down and fiddled with one of the side mirrors.

“Ready to head out?” Sniper asked, once he’d adjusted his mirror and rolled the window back up.

“Uh-huh.”

“Got everything y’need?”

“Everything’s in my bag, I checked like five times.”

Sniper shifted the Winnebago into drive, but kept his boot planted on the brake.“Last chance to run back in ’n’ grab something.”

“I’m good, I swear.”

Apparently that answer was enough to satisfy Sniper, because he eased his foot off the brake and the Winnie lurched forward. 

As soon as the camper started to move, it felt like their trip was actually starting.Well, technically, it _was_ officially starting, but whatever.Scout kinda felt similar to what he was feeling now back when he drove his car from Boston to New Mexico for the first time.But in that instance, though, there were a shitload more negative emotions than positive ones—fear, uncertainty, loneliness, homesickness.He had literally no idea what might be waiting for him in Teufort, and because of that, the drive had been mainly miserable. 

He didn’t know what _this_ trip would entail, either, but he wasn’t worried about it.Matter of fact, he was feeling pretty much the opposite of worried.He was excited to set out on the open road with Snipes.Driving across the country by himself was always boring as shit, but with Sniper to keep him company, a twenty-six hour round-trip drive would be nothing.

He was excited.

_Or maybe spendin’ this much time with Sniper’ll make ya see how he really is and you’ll figure out that he gets on your nerves and ya won’t be able to look past his flaws and you’ll break up with him and you’ll be lonely and heartbroken for the rest of your life OR MAYBE he’ll figure out that YOU get on HIS nerves and HE’LL break up with YOU and you’ll be lonely and heartbroken for the rest of your life—_

His inner Negative Nancy had really been nagging at him this morning.Pre-vacation jitters, probably.Just the good ol’ fashioned pre-vacation jitters, which had nothing at all to do with the fact that _oh God we’re gonna be sharin’ the same bed and what if I do that thing where I scream in my sleep and what if I snore too loud and I ain’t actually ever slept in a bed with nobody so what if I can’t fall asleep with another person beside me and what if _—__

_—Y’know.The sex thing.What about that, huh?What if that actually happens?Am I…?Can I…?Do I…?_

Alright.So maybe he was a _tad_ nervous about a few things.But he’d be damned if he’d let it keep him from having a good time.He laced his fingers behind his head and stared out the windshield at the open road, determined to enjoy himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .........To be continued in the next chapter!
> 
> I really thought I'd wrap this up in one chapter and just call it a "filler chapter," but me being me, I just couldn't do that. Oh well. I'll continue it in the next chapter! I dunno if the next chapter will be considered filler, though. It might have less fluff and maybe some actual plot. I dunno yet. (shrug)


	22. Chapter 22

_~November, 1944~_

 

“I’m bored,” Moira whined.

“Me too,” her twin sister, Fran, said.

Lawrence sighed.He loved Aunt Agnes and Uncle Fred, they were a couple of nice folks if he ever saw any.But their children—his cousins—were identical nightmares in their patent-leather Mary Janes and starched gingham dresses.Every time his aunt and uncle came to the farmhouse to visit, Lawrence was put in charge of keeping Moira and Fran entertained.

That was much, much easier said than done.

“I told you it was boring in here,” Lawrence said, scratching at his wrist.Why he scratched it so much, he didn’t know; it wasn’t itchy.

“Aunt Ellie said there was a cat in the barn,” Moira said, crossing her arms.

“She did, I heard her,” Fran said.“We want to see the cat, Lawrence.”

“I can’t just make him come out when I want him to,” Lawrence lied.“Kittytom only comes out when he feels like it.”

“Your cat’s name is Kittytom?” Fran giggled.

“Only Loony Lawrence would name a cat something so silly.”

Mum had been the one who’d actually named the gray tabby, but Lawrence knew there was no use in explaining this to the girls. 

“Don’t call me that,” Lawrence muttered, scratching at his wrist even harder.

“Don’t call you what?” Moira said, smiling toothily.“Loony Lawrence?”

“Loony Lawrence, Loony Lawrence,” Fran chanted.

Lawrence balled his hands up into fists and took a menacing step forward, but neither of the twins so much as flinched.

“You can’t hit us,” Fran said, “we’re girls.”

“I’ll hit you if I bloody well want to,” Lawrence said, feeling his face grow hot.“I don’t care if you’re girls.”

Moira gasped dramatically, her eyes widening.“I’m telling Uncle Ed you said that!”

“Go ahead ’n’ tell me dad, he won’t care,” Lawrence said.“I’ll just tell him I hit you on account of you teasin’ me!”

“But we’re _not_ teasing you,” Moira said.“We’re only calling you by your name… _Loony Lawrence_.”

Lawrence knew that Fran was right, that he really shouldn’t go round hitting girls.But he was teased constantly in school, and he’d be buggered if he’d succumb to teasing in his own bloody barn—the only place in this world where he could have a bit of peace.

Even though Lawrence’s brain knew this fact full-well, his legs apparently had minds of their own.He felt like some unseen force was in control of his body as he ran toward the girls, teeth bared and hands curled into claws.

Moira and Fran let out identical squeals and turned on their pretty little heels to run away.Lawrence was older than them by nearly a year, but they were still much faster than he was.He thought he’d never catch up until they both made the unwise decision to climb the ladder up to the loft. 

He grinned, bypassing the ladder altogether and scrambling up a stack of square hay bales over on the far left side of the barn.  By the time both girls reached the top, he was standing up there waiting for them, grinning triumphantly.

They screamed again.

“We were only joking, Lawrence!” Fran said, actual tears brimming in her eyes.“Please don’t hit us.”

“We won’t call you Loony Lawrence anymore, honest,” Moira added.

Lawrence let his hands flop back down to his sides.He hadn’t intended to really hit either of them, anyhow—Mum ’n’ Dad would be so disappointed in him if he did, and he knew this. 

“Okay,” Lawrence grumbled.“I won’t hit you.But you’d better not be callin’ me that name anymore, yeah?”

“We won’t,” Fran said, nodding.“Right, Moira?”

But there was a strange look on Moira’s face.It was the same look she got just before she shoved Lawrence into the snake-infested pond a few months prior.Lawrence swallowed.

“Actually,” Moira said, “I’ve got a better idea.”

_Ah, piss_ , Lawrence thought, dread pooling in his stomach. _What’s she gonna go ’n’ do to me now?_

“We won’t tell Aunt Ellie and Uncle Ed on you,” Moira simpered, “ _if_ you jump down from here.”To further illustrate her point, she pointed over the edge of the loft.

“What?” Lawrence said.“I’m not jumpin’ down from here, I’d break both me legs!”

“Well,” Moira shrugged, “I suppose we’ll just have to tell your parents about you chasing us and threatening to hit us, then.”

“I guess you will, ‘cause I ain’t jumpin’!”

“Or,” Moira said, rushing forward with her hands outstretched, “I could just _push_ you down—!”

Lawrence expected her to try something like that, so he simply sidestepped out of the way to dodge her.For about half a second, he allowed himself a victorious smile—until he realized Moira wasn’t stopping.She kept on running towards the edge.

“Moira!” Fran shrieked, grabbing two fistfuls of her sister’s dress.But it wasn’t enough.Moira was going over the edge.

And now, so was Fran.

Moira’s arms flailed uselessly through the air, Fran clung desperately to Moira’s dress…and Lawrence made the snap decision to grab Fran’s hand.He dug his boots into the old wood of the barn, trying to keep the both of them from falling, but it was no use; the twins were much too heavy for his thin little arms to support.

Now all three of them were toppling over the edge, flailing and screaming as they went.

 

****

 

_~Present-Day~_

 

So many things could’ve gone wrong. 

The Winnie could’ve gotten a flat tire.It could’ve rained.Scout could’ve gotten bored ten minutes into the drive, or Scout’s leg could’ve started bothering him.Sniper’s nerves could’ve gotten the better of him and he could’ve made a real arse of himself.

But none of those things happened.

They were on the roof of the Winnebago, lying side-by-side, staring up at the night sky.Sniper had parked the Winnie as close as he could get it to Area 51 without trespassing (there were “ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT” signs bloody everywhere), which was still about a mile away from the mysterious building.

He worried Scout would be bored of stargazing by now, but it was no secret that one of Scout’s favorite things to do was talk—and he was just full of stories to tell.Sniper even had a few of his own tales to share, mostly about his adventures with his cousins Moira and Fran.(After the whole barn loft kerfuffle, the three of them had actually started getting along, for whatever odd reason.)

Even after being trapped in a moving camper for 13 hours with nothing to do but talk to each other, they still had plenty to say to one another.Sniper wanted to hear anything and everything Scout had to tell him.He wanted to know every little thing about the man snuggled against his side and using his bicep for a neck rest.What was surprising, though, was that Scout seemed equally interested in what Sniper had to say.Sniper didn’t think he’d ever had someone actually _listen_ to him like this before.

It felt so strange to really, actually love someone.Like it shouldn’t be happening to a bloke like him.

But it was.

“Seein’ any UFOs yet?” Scout asked him. 

That was only about the hundredth time Scout had asked that, but it somehow managed to be increasingly amusing every time he said it.

“None over here,” Sniper said.“What abou’ you?”

“Nope, not seein’ any yet.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t expectin’ to see any.Were you?”

“Nah, not really.But y’know that booklet-thing we bought at that last gas station?It was sayin’ stuff about how they test military aircraft over there sometimes, but they do it at night so ya can’t see what they look like.It’s supposed to be super-secret or whatever.Thought we might see some weird planes or sum’n over there.”

“Hope you’re not disappointed, gremlin.”

“You kiddin’?This is _awesome_.I’ve been on long car rides before, y’know, drivin’ from the base and back up to Boston, but I ain’t ever been on a _road trip_ , y’know?I said it before, but gettin’ there’s half the fun anyways.”

“I certainly learned a lot o’ things abou’ you that I didn’t know before.”

“Yeah, exactly!I mean, I didn’t know about your two cousins before this trip, but I do now.”

“’N’ I had no idea your favorite color was green.”

“See, it’s just little things like that.I wanna find out all about that good stuff.”

Sniper’s eyes widened as he had a sudden thought.“Oh.Dunno what made me just think abou’ this, but for some reason, that reminded me.How’s your leg?Need to walk around for a bit?”

“I’m awright,” Scout said.“It feels fine for now.”

“That’s good.”

And it _was_ good, but that wasn’t exactly what Sniper had on his mind.He was thinking a bit…further down the line.

“But I’ve been thinkin’,” Sniper said.

“Yeah?”

“Well…I’ve been thinkin’ abou’ when, er…here in a bit, when we go to sleep…”Sniper sighed.“I know normal folks, they share a bed when they’re this…involved wiv someone.’N’ that’s—that’s fine, I don’t mind it.I’ve got a double bed now, not some cramped little thing like in me old camper.There’s room for two up there in me bunk.But if you wanted to stretch your leg out ’n’ not have to share a bed, there’s a hide-a-bed I can pull outta the couch.Don’t think you’ll be offendin’ me if you wanna have more room to sleep,’S perfectly understandable.”

Scout propped himself up on an elbow and look down at Sniper, smiling slyly.“You just don’t want me sleepin’ in your bed, admit it.”

“Really, it’s not like that,” Sniper said.  “I thought abou’ it for a long time, ’n’ I…I really don’t think it’d bother me, you sleepin’ in me bed.  Might even, erm…help a bit.”

Scout raised his eyebrows.“Help?Help what, ya got trouble sleepin’?”

Sniper knew it was an inappropriate response, but he had to laugh at that.“Trouble sleepin’s an understatement, love.I’m tossin’ ’n’ turnin’ all night long.That’s another reason y’might want your own bed, by the way.”

“Well, uh,” Scout said, looking uncomfortable, “that kinda makes me feel better about—nah, wait, I didn’t mean you _sufferin’_ made me feel better, I just meant—I got trouble sleepin’, too.I can fall asleep okay, but it’s weird, like…my dreams are so frickin’ _vivid_.Sometimes I do this thing where, uh…I wake myself up ‘cause I’m…”He grimaced.“…Screamin’.”

“Oh,” Sniper said, because he didn’t know what else to say. 

“It don’t happen real often,” Scout said quickly.“Once, maybe twice a week, tops.But y’know, the walls in the base are soundproofed, so I can kinda yell and scream all I want without wakin’ anybody up, but tonight, I’ll be with you.Heh.You might wake _me_ up and I might wake _you_ up, huh?”

“Suppose so,” Sniper said.“Sounds like you’ve got night terrors.”

Scout nodded.“Yeah, I think so, too.Sometimes my dreams are just all crazy and don’t make any sense, but every time I wake up screamin’, I dreamt a sum’n scary.”Scout burrowed himself back into Sniper’s arms, and Sniper was grateful for that; it was _freezing_ outside.He’d thought ahead enough to spread a blanket out on top of the camper, so at least his arse wasn’t up against chilled metal, but Scout’s added body warmth was much appreciated.

“Maybe tonight, you won’t have bad dreams since you won’t be sleepin’ alone,” Sniper said.“I don’t mean you’ve got to sleep in _my_ bed, I swear I don’t mind if you sleep on the hide-a-bed, but maybe just knowin’ there’s someone else wiv you might help.”

“Y’know I think it might?I grew up sharin’ a two-bedroom apartment with seven brothers, and Ma, and whoever the hell Ma’s boyfriend of the week was—Ma got her own bedroom, and there were four sets a bunkbeds in the other room.I _still_ ain’t used to sleepin’ alone, I don’t think.”

“I can’t even imagine sleepin’ in a room wiv seven others…’n’ all that city noise outside, too…back home, I’d sometimes open up the window at night just to hear the bugs ’n’ owls.”

“Oh, man.You’d _think_ the traffic and the loud-ass neighbors and the dogs barkin’ would really get on your nerves—I thought it _did_ get on my nerves, actually—till ya don’t hear it anymore.When I first got to Teufort, I didn’t sleep for, like, two weeks.”

“I didn’t, either.”

Scout gave a long, loud yawn.“Hey, Snipes.”

“Hey, Scout.”

“Seein’ any UFOs yet?”

Sniper snorted.“‘Fraid not.You?”

“Negative.”

Scout yawned again, which prompted Sniper to fish a tiny flashlight from his pocket and shine it on the face of his wristwatch.

“Gettin’ late.Wanna call it a night?”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly midnight.”

Scout sat up and ran a hand through his hair.“For real?We been out here that long?”

“Those aliens are evasive little buggers, ain’t they?” Sniper said, pulling himself into a sitting position as well.

“Yeah…” Scout said, sighing again.“Aw, Snipes, this whole thing was my idea, and—awright, look, I knew there was like…like _no_ chance we were gonna see a UFO, but I was kinda…just hopin’ there’d be some kinda _activity_ over at Area 51, y’know?Maybe some lights or a little bit a movement or just a little sum’n to, like…”Scout shrugged.“I dunno.Remember the trip by, I guess?”

No matter the situation, Scout’s emotions were always written so intensely across his face.When he was happy, that was a good thing—Sniper loved seeing Scout’s face-splitting smiles and glittering blue eyes—but Scout’s current look of dejection was downright heartbreaking.Looking at him made Sniper feel like an icy hand had reached into his chest cavity and squeezed hard at whatever it could grab.

_Say something!_

“We’ve got plenty to remember the trip by,” Sniper said.“You got that belt wiv the beads all over it at the travel center, yeah?”

Scout gave a barely-there smile.“And you got that tee shirt with those wolves all over it.”

“See, there?Every time I wear that shirt I’ll remember the trip.”

Scout smiled wider, but Sniper could tell that the gesture wasn’t sincere.“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right.Hey, why don’t we head inside, huh?I _am_ kinda tired, now that you mention it.”

_Something’s bothering him.Wonder if he wants to talk about it.Probably not, if he hasn’t mentioned it already._

_…Wait, no.Sometimes he keeps everything all bottled up, I know that.Just like I do.Maybe when I get inside, I’ll try ’n’ coax it out of him.It’ll make him feel better if he gets it out, won’t it?_

_Always makes me feel better._

“Lemme pack up the telescope,” Sniper said, “’n’ I’ll head in.You go on ahead.”

While Sniper shimmied over to the telescope, Scout stood up.“Want me to take the blanket in there with me?” Scout asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sniper started dismantling the telescope, using only the moonlight for his guide.He heard Scout climb down the side of the camper via the narrow ladder welded to the side, then both heard and felt a dull _thud_ as Scout shut the camper door behind him. 

He made short work of putting away the telescope, taking it apart piece by piece and placing all the bits and bobs into its protective case.Under normal circumstances, he’d’ve been much more careful with it (he’d had it for ages and he’d like to keep it in good shape for as long as possible, thanks), but his mind was elsewhere.He was too engrossed in thinking about how he’d coax Scout into talking about what was truly bothering him.

_Well_ , he thought as he latched his telescope case closed, _I haven’t got much time to come up wiv something, have I?_

 

****

 

The propane generator ran the hot water, the fridge, the stove, and the heater, but nothing else; ergo, they had to navigate the Winnebago with flashlights.When Sniper entered the camper, Scout was seated on the couch, jiggling his flashlight and causing the beam to dance wildly along the wall, the ceiling, the floor.Sniper swapped his tiny light for a more appropriately-sized one, clicked it on, and headed to the couch to sit down.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” Sniper said simply.

“Huh?” Scout said, the flashlight beam ceasing in its ministrations.  “Oh, nah, no, I’m okay.”

“We’re supposed to talk about these sorts of things, right?I tell you my problems, ’n’ you tell me yours?”

Scout hesitated before he replied.“It’s stupid, Snipes, it don’t matter.I’m just bein’ dumb, y’know?”He punctuated his sentence with a mirthless laugh.

“Well.I understand not wantin’ to talk abou’ something, so I won’t keep on.Just know I’m glad to listen, if you wanna—“

“You’re not mad at me, are ya?” Scout blurted.

Sniper had to let that statement percolate for a moment.Even after he thought it over for a couple seconds, he still didn’t quite know what it meant. 

“Mad?” Sniper said.“What would I be mad at you for?”

“Well, y’know,” Scout said.“It’s like—I—is it gonna be weird, us sharin’ a bed?Just be honest.”

Even though Scout had just said “be honest,” Sniper had to make sure he really meant that.

“Honest, honest?Brutally honest?”

“Please.”

Sniper cleared his throat.“The weird bit’s not the sleepin’ in the same bed part, exactly.It’s the whole… _sexual_ part.I know we haven’t talked abou’ it much, but I’m sure you’ve assumed it anyhow—I’m not that, er, _experienced_ when it comes to things like that.”

“Are you a virgin?”

Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame Scout for asking that. 

“Actually, no,” Sniper said.“That ain’t sayin’ much, mind.I’ll be honest, I’ve only had…I’ve only done…I’ve had sex three times.Total.That’s it.’N’ before you say it, I know it’s ridiculous—“

Scout shook his head.“It’s not ridiculous, Snipes.”

“You don’t think a thirty-six—wait, thirty- _seven_ , actually—you don’t think a thirty-seven-year-old man oughter’ve had more bedroom experience than just _three_ times?”

“What?No, course not.That’s just…I mean, everybody’s different when it comes to that, and that’s just how ya are.I get that.That’s kinda…kinda why I’m a little nervous right now.Since we’re bein’ honest.”

“So you’re nervous because…I haven’t had a lot of sex in me lifetime, or…?”

“It ain’t really that.Well, it’s _kinda_ that.I just don’t wantcha to think…I don't wantcha to feel obligated to, uh…look, just ‘cause we’re sharin’ a bed, why does that mean we gotta screw each other?It don’t, does it?”

The sudden outburst made Sniper’s eyes widen, but he knew where Scout was coming from.“Seems like in movies ’n’ books, that’s how it always goes, innit?”

“Yeah, my point exactly,” Scout said.“Don’t get me wrong, I—I’d _like_ to—it ain’t like I haven’t _thought_ about—aw, goddammit.Look, this is gonna sound lame, but I wanna wait for the right moment to…y’know.When we both…”He rubbed fitfully at his face and groaned.“Why’s this so hard to talk about?I feel like an asshole.”

Maybe Sniper should tell him…no, that’d just make Scout feel worse. 

Or would it make him feel better?

“So we’re being honest right now, yeah?” Sniper asked.

Scout nodded.“Yeah.”

“‘M not sure if it’ll make you feel better or worse abou’ this whole thing, but I’ll tell it anyhow.I…I dunno if it’s because I’ve spent most o’ me life alone, or if me brain just ain’t wired right, or what, but…I’m just very… _indifferent_ when it comes to sex.”Sniper shrugged.“I tried it.Thought it was okay.I’d do it again, but…”Another shrug.“I could go the rest o’ me life wivout ever doin’ it again.”

Scout thought about that for a moment.“Guess I’m a _little_ bit the same way.I ain’t like I used to be.Used to, I was horny twenty-four seven, I mean it.Hormones or whatever, I guess.Now it’s a lot less…intense, I guess?I don’t see somebody I think is hot and just instantly wonder what they look like naked or how it’d feel to screw ‘em.I used to do that so much, and now I just don’t.It’s been nearly two years since I last had sex, and I’m kinda like you a little bit, Snipes, I just…”Shrug.“It’s nice, I enjoy it.But I ain’t nearly so desperate for it now.I can wait on it.And if it’s cool with you, maybe we do that.Maybe we wait on it.Don’tcha think we could share a bed without jumpin’ each other’s bones?Ain’t we mature enough to do that?”

“Don’t see why not,” Sniper said. 

Scout’s shoulders sagged in relief.“Aw, good, goodgoodgood.I knew ya’d get it.I’mma go put my pajamas on.”

Pointing his flashlight at the ground, Scout got up from the couch and went to fetch his duffel bag.Sniper thought he’d better get ready for bed, as well.He headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth, stomach squirming in anticipation.Or was it nervousness?He couldn’t really tell the difference between the two. 

_Wonder what it’ll be like to sleep next to someone.Might be nice._

_Might be terrible._

_But it might be nice._

_Maybe I’ll actually get a good night’s sleep tonight…be nice not to have to drink twice the lethal amount of caffeine just to keep me eyes open every bloody day._

He spat his toothpaste into the sink.When had he even walked into the bathroom?His mind had been so preoccupied, his brain had turned itself on autopilot to complete the simple task.He took a customary before-bed piss, washed his hands, and headed back toward the front of the camper.

When he returned, Scout had already climbed up into the bunk, shining the beam of his flashlight all over the ceiling above the bed. _He must think that’s entertaining_ , Sniper thought with a slight smile. 

He reached into one of the shallow drawers below the bunk and pulled out a fresh tee shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms.Somewhere, he had some pajamas he’d worn last night, but he couldn’t remember where he’d put them.It’d be nigh impossible to find them in this darkness, so he’d just put on a new set. 

He was down to his boxers before he realized what he was doing.

A pair of large, round eyes stared down at him from up in the bunk.

Sniper was partly horrified at his blunder—he’d started stripping his clothes out of pure habit, and had he thought twice about it, he’d’ve slipped into the bathroom to change—but he was mostly amused that Scout was so shyly peeking at him.He smirked up at the man and pinched at the modest layer of fat padding his middle. 

“What you lookin’ at, love?Y’like what y’see?”

Like a turtle retracting into its shell, Scout’s head instantly disappeared from Sniper’s view.Sniper heard a soft _thud_ as Scout’s head hit the pillow with considerable force.

Sniper slipped his pajamas on and climbed into the bunk.  Scout was on the opposite end of the bed, lying on his side.  He still clutched the flashlight in his hand, its beam pointed up at the ceiling.  Sniper usually slept square in the middle of the bed, so sleeping on the edge was going to be a bit of a different experience—he hoped he didn’t roll off the side in the middle of the night.

The heater was doing a fair job at keeping the camper warm, so there was only the one blanket on the bed for tonight.Sniper’d knitted it himself; he hoped Scout didn’t think it was itchy.He pulled back the cover and burrowed his way under it, and he instantly noticed a difference in sharing a bed with someone versus sleeping alone.It was hard to put into words, but there was a…a _space_ between himself and Scout, where their bodies had caused the blanket to float above the mattress.It was letting cool air in, so Sniper slapped at the blanket to try and adjust it to a cozier position.

The light from the lone flashlight was dim, but Sniper had no trouble seeing Scout grinning at him. 

“How’s your leg?” Sniper asked him, lying on his back and nestling his head into the pillow.“You haven’t gotta scrunch up on your side, you can stretch out.It’s alright if you…if you touch me.”

Wordlessly, Scout thumbed the flashlight off.Sniper heard the _thunk_ of aluminum meeting wood as Scout sat the flashlight into one of the cubby holes built into the wall.There was a rustling of bedsheets and suddenly there was something heavy lying on Sniper’s chest, the ever-so-faint smell of shampoo tickling at his nose.Then there was another thing not quite as heavy as the first thing draping itself across his middle.Five slim fingers grabbed a fistful of his shirt and held it.

“Is this awright?” Scout muttered.

_Hmm._

_Seems okay._

_Maybe a bit warm._

_But okay._

Craning his head down, Sniper pressed a kiss into Scout’s hair.So much physical contact all at once was a bit dizzying, but he’d been mentally steeling himself for this very moment all week; he wasn’t nearly as panicked as he thought he’d be.He’d even go so far as to say he liked it.It felt nice to have Scout so close to him; that way, Sniper knew for sure that Scout was doing okay.He wouldn’t have to lie awake and wonder if Scout had gotten to sleep already, if Scout’s leg was bothering him, and so many other things.With Scout there clinging to him, he knew the man was fine.

Just fine.

Not lying awake, writhing in pain.Not curled into a ball yanking his hair out, trying to resist the temptations that must call to him at the end of every tiresome day.

Just fine.

Sniper placed a hand atop Scout’s jutting hip bone.There.Now he knew for sure, now his hand could feel if something was amiss. 

“Yeah,” Sniper said.“’S fine.But your leg’s still all bent up, are you sure it feels alright?”

“Mmhmm.Feels better when I lay may weight on it like this.”

“Alright, then, gremlin.Move if y’need to.”

“I will.”The hand grasping his shirt gripped it tighter.“I love you.”

Something inside of Sniper broke.He didn’t know what, but he felt it give and snap—something, some kind of mental barrier in his mind, something…

…Something.

Oh, God.He knew he’d said “I love you” to Scout before, and he’d _meant_ it before, too, but it felt more real and concrete now.Maybe it was because he’d never been this close to another person before.He’d experienced the sins of the flesh, the carnal rituals so many people took deep pleasure in doing, but he hadn’t cared about it.There was no emotion tied to his actions other than “I need to do this to see if I like it, I need to get this over with.”He’d been piss-drunk all three times it happened, anyway. 

Now he was stone-sober and was in bed with a man, a man who clung desperately to him like Sniper might turn to ashes if he let go.There was _feeling_ behind it—a want, a need.Sniper still found it hard to believe, that he’d found someone like this.Someone who cared about him.Someone _he_ cared about.A part of him still thought it was nothing more than a perfect illusion, but all he had to do to bring himself back down to reality was twitch his right hand.When he did that, he could feel the very real lump of Scout’s hip bone under his palm.

“Love you, too,” Sniper said.He noticed his own voice sounded a bit surprised.

Hell, he _was_ a bit surprised.

 

****

 

The next time Sniper opened his eyes, his alarm clock was blaring in his ears.

A sound somewhere between a groan and a whine erupted from the man pressed against him.During the night, they became even more entwined; Scout’s right leg was wedged between Sniper’s legs, and Scout’s hand had slithered under Sniper’s shirt to palm one of his tits.

Now, the leg thing might’ve just happened accidentally—natural shifting during sleep, and whatnot—but the hand fondling his bare nipple was intentional.

_Naughty thing_ , Sniper thought to himself, grinning hazily. 

Scout dislodged himself from Sniper and poked around on the alarm clock till it stopped its incessant beeping.He arched his back and stretched his arms over his head, eliciting a series of satisfying pops. 

“Man,” Scout said, voice still groggy with sleep, “I didn’t wake up at _all_ last night.I slept the whole night through, I can hardly believe it.That’s the best sleep I’ve got in…mmm, I can’t even remember how long, for real.”With eyes still puffed and squinting, he looked over at Sniper.

_Oh._

_He’s cute._

“No bad dreams?” Sniper asked, sitting up in bed.The pain that usually plagued his lower back first thing in the morning was absent, he noticed.

“Nuh-uh,” Scout said.“I can remember little bits and pieces of what I dreamed about, but nuttin’ really stuck with me.That’s a _huge_ relief.How ‘bout you, how’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” Sniper said.His eyes were wide and alert, ready to start the day.He could hardly believe it.“Holy hell.I don’t even remember lyin’ awake, or anything.”

“‘Bout five minutes after we laid down, ya started snorin’,” Scout grinned.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.Ya were out like a light, man.”

“Wow.”Sniper followed Scout’s example, stretching his back and his arms. _Click-clickclick_.“Normally I have a really hard time gettin’ to sleep.”

“Yeah, I usually have a hard time _stayin_ ’ asleep.We both just conked out.”

“Guess it was on account of we weren’t sleepin’ alone, what d’you reckon?”

Scout nodded, pulling Sniper in for a chaste kiss before letting him go again.“I might hafta start sneakin’ out to your camper every night, huh?”

Sniper allowed a slow smile to creep across his face.“Wish you could, but there’d be no way.”

Scout huffed out a little sigh.“I know.Maybe one night a week I can make up some story about how I’m goin’ to my girlfriend’s place, or sum’n.”

Sniper quirked an eyebrow.“Oh, you’ve got a girlfriend now, do you?”

“Yeah, she’s smokin’ hot.She’s tall, she’s got these wicked nice sideburns, mmm, she wears _glasses_ —I really dig glasses—and get this, she lives in this groovy camper and she can just drive it anywhere she wants—

Sniper grabbed up his pillow, wielded it two-handed like a baseball bat, and whumped Scout in the head with it.

“Heyheyhey, what was _that_ for?!”

“Well,” Sniper grinned, “you just _go_ to your girlfriend’s camper, then.See if I care.”

“Fine, I will,” Scout retorted, sticking his nose in the air.He clambered over the top of Sniper and shimmied down the bunk ladder.“Sorry babe, I gotta piss.”

“Did you _ask_ if you could use me bathroom?”

“Hey, I got a present for ya.”Scout flashed Sniper his middle finger before spinning on his heel and taking off to the back of the camper toward the bathroom.

_Little shit._

Pillow still in hand, Sniper cranked his arm back and threw it at the retreating figure below him.It hit Scout square in the middle of his back, causing the man to give an indignant squawk and trot a little faster.

“Just for that, I’m pissin’ all over your toilet seat!” Scout hollered.

“You do it and you’re walkin’ home!”

The bathroom door slammed shut, thereby ceasing the conversation.When all was quiet, Sniper realized his own bladder was beyond full.He considered heading outside to take a piss, but the public land surrounding Area 51 was apparently well-guarded.He didn’t want some strange military blokes having a gander at his nethers, thanks.

He’d have to wait his turn, he supposed.He’d make a pot of coffee while he waited, then.He climbed down from the bunk and padded into the kitchenette, grinning as he stepped over the pillow he’d just thrown.

Scout headed out of the bathroom at about the time Sniper pulled the can of coffee grounds out of the cabinet.He handed the can to Scout and started for the bathroom.

“What the hell’m I supposed to do with this?” Scout said.

“Make coffee,” Sniper said over his shoulder.

“I dunno how to frickin’ do that!”

Sniper stopped in his tracks.  He turned around.

“You dunno how to work a coffee maker?”

Scout gave him a deadpan look.“Ya know I don’t drink this crap.”

“You just wait right there, love.I’m gonna teach you the fine art of coffee-makin’ right after I piss.”

Scout voiced some sort of complaint, but Sniper shut the bathroom door on him and didn’t quite hear it. 

_Never made coffee before.Can’t believe that.Then again, he drinks all them sodas and energy drinks and whatall, guess he don’t really need coffee.He’d probably like it wiv some o’ that fancy liquid creamer in it, I bet.Have to get him some next time I’m at the market, let him try it.If he’s gonna be stayin’ wiv me, he’s gonna have to—_

But Scout wasn’t staying with Sniper.This was just a one-night thing.When they got back to the base, Scout would be back to sleeping in his bedroom inside the base, and Sniper would be out in his camper with no one tucked beside him as he slept.

He didn’t want Scout to go back to sleeping in his own bed.He rather liked Scout sleeping beside him, if last night was any indication.Truly, it must’ve been the best night’s sleep he’d ever gotten.He knew for certain that Scout was okay because he could _feel_ him—and at the same time, he had someone there with him to keep _him_ company through the night.

Maybe Sniper was more lonely than he realized.

He’d have to think about all that later.He washed his hands and headed back to the kitchenette, where Scout was poking and pulling at the coffee maker, trying to figure it out.

“Lemme just show you,” Sniper said, picking up the coffee pot and giving Scout a little peck on the forehead.“First, y’fill this with water—“

“Totally full?”

“Totally full.’N’ then you…”

For now, Sniper forced himself to forget about sleeping alone.At the moment, he needed to focus his attention on teaching his boyfriend 

_(boyfriend)_

a very valuable life skill.Everybody ought to know how to operate a coffee maker, after all. 

Standing there in the little kitchen together seemed like such an average, normal thing to do.  No secret government experiments, no death, no blood, no respawn.  Just making a perfectly normal, perfectly average pot of coffee.

Perfectly normal, perfectly average.It was something neither of them could ever be, but it was nice to enjoy a taste of the mundane from time to time.

Funny, that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I know a couple of people have asked me if this story is ever gonna get NSFW, and I can honestly say...I don't know! It didn't happen in this chapter because it just didn't feel right. I wanted to put a lil more fluff in this story, and that's what I wrote. (shrug)
> 
> And where I live, it's just before midnight, so I technically got this done by my Sunday night "deadline" I set for myself every week. Yay (:


	23. Chapter 23

Miss Pauling was already in the rec room when Scout walked in.He knew how serious she was about punctuality, so he’d gotten there a couple minutes earlier than their scheduled meeting time of five a.m.She was seated at the card table with messy stacks of documents fanned out in front of her and a bricklike portable telephone standing at attention by her elbow.When he shut the door behind him, Miss Pauling looked up from her work and gave him a slight smile.

Scout could safely say that he was over his crush on her, but he still felt self-conscious when she looked at him.He knew he looked like hammered hell this morning because he’d been able to sleep for, oh, about twenty minutes.Night before last, Scout’s head had rested atop Sniper’s chest; the dull thrum of Sniper’s heartbeat and the steady in and out, in and out of Sniper’s breathing had lulled him into a peaceful slumber.He figured he wouldn’t be able to sleep very well on his own, but he didn’t expect to be unable to sleep at _all._ His eyes were puffy and had dark circles under them, not to mention the fact that he hadn’t tried all that hard to style his hair.

Ma always used to keep cold tea bags in the fridge for the dark circles under her eyes.She’d shoo the kids off the couch, lie down, and put a bag over each eye.She swore they worked.If Scout really couldn’t get to sleep, he might have to try that little trick.He didn’t want Sniper to see him and worry that he was sick, or something.He felt okay, he was just a little—

“Right on time,” Miss Pauling said, jarring him from his thoughts.“Lock the door behind you, would you please?”

Scout didn’t even know the rec room door _had_ a lock on it, but when he turned around to look, there was a sliding bolt lock near the top.He locked the door and went over to the card table to sit down.

As soon as his ass made contact with one of the metal folding chairs, Miss Pauling started talking. 

“I know I was pretty vague when I asked you to meet me here,” she said.“Classified information and whatnot.”She flapped her hand dismissively.“You understand.”

Scout didn’t, actually, but he didn’t figure there was a reason to tell her that.“Yeah, I get it, that’s fine,” he assured her.“Kinda figured it might be about me goin’ back to work?Since I been outta physical therapy for awhile?”

God, he hoped that was what Miss Pauling called this little meeting for.He wanted to get back to work so frickin’ bad—he didn’t realize how cathartic running around and shooting people really was.He almost hated to say it, but he missed it.

“That’s part of it,” Miss Pauling said.“As a matter of fact, I talked with the Administrator about you just last night.”

Scout’s tired eyes widened.“Is that a…is that a good thing, or is that a bad thing?”

“It’s a good thing, don’t worry,” Miss Pauling said.“We were just discussing that after your temporary replacement—you probably didn’t ever get the chance to meet Looker, did you?—anyway, after Looker made his, uh, _abrupt_ departure, the rest of RED really pulled together to make up for your absence.They’re not doing as well as they could be, of course, but they’re holding their own against BLU.We’d love for you to get back to work, but if you need more time, your team can afford for you to take a few more weeks to recover.You have the Administrator’s approval, if you’d like to do that.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said quickly, “I’m ready to go back.”He slapped at his left thigh for emphasis.“This thing’s good as new, I swear.”

Miss Pauling flipped through some documents situated in front of her and studied them for a moment, lips pursed.“Well, Nurse’s records say you passed your physical therapy with flying colors…”She riffled through some more papers.“And here’s some of Medic’s notes saying you're recovering at a normal rate.Seems like you’re good to go, if you’re sure you feel better.”

“Sure I’m sure,” Scout said, nodding furiously like the bobblehead stuck to Sniper’s dashboard.“Never better.I can go back tomorrow, if ya want me to.”

“That’s fine by me, but this week’s already started.You can wait until next Monday, if that’d be better for you.”

Scout didn’t even have to think about it.“I’m ready to go back, for real.”

Miss Pauling took up her clipboard, wrote something on it, then turned her attention back to Scout.“Okay, then.That settles that.Now on to the other thing I wanted to see you for.”

“Oh, there’s sum’n else?” Scout said.Now he was getting a little worried.He’d expected to come in here and talk with Miss P about going back to work, but he figured that was all she wanted to discuss.His mind immediately jumped to Sniper.What if she wanted to talk about his and Sniper’s relationship?According to Medic, inter-faction romance was technically allowed, but what if the rules had changed?What if Miss P was about to give him an official reprimand? 

He knew one thing—he wasn’t about to cut ties with Sniper just because of some dumb job.He’d taken a page from Spy’s book and ratholed a bunch of money into a Swiss bank account, more than he could ever hope to spend in a lifetime.It’d be more than enough for him and Sniper to blow this popsicle stand and live the rest of their lives somewhere else.Granted, quitting RED before your contract expired was a great way to get yourself killed, but a change of identity and a low-profile lifestyle would keep them safe.It’d be hard, but it was doable. 

And it would definitely be better than living his life without Sniper in it.

“Yes, there’s one more I wanted to discuss with you,” Miss Pauling said.“I have a favor to ask you.”

Scout’s leg started bouncing.“Anything for you, Miss P,” he said with a forced grin, because that’s what the Scout who still had a crush on Miss Pauling would say.Maybe he could just play dumb if the subject of him and Sniper came up.He’d have to see how this conversation progressed to know how he should act.

“A new restaurant’s opened up in Threepoint—Coronado’s, it’s called.Have you heard of it?”

“Yeah, pretty sure I drove by it a couple times,” Scout said.“I never been in it, though.”

“I can’t divulge very many details about it, as of right now, but you’d really be helping me out if you’d go to that restaurant with me tomorrow evening and pose as my date.I need to scope the place out without looking conspicuous, and if I go there alone, it’ll look like I’m up to something.Which, I _am_ up to something, but I don’t want certain people in there to know that.You wouldn’t have to do much, just sit there and make it look like we’re having a perfectly nice, perfectly normal dinner together.Would you be willing to do that for me?”

That wasn’t what Scout was expecting at all.He had to fight to keep his face neutral.“Uh,” he said, trying to rack his brain for the right thing to say.He was still desperately hoping that Miss Pauling didn’t know about his relationship with Sniper, so he had to play like he still had the hots for her.“You’re not askin’ me out on a _date_ right now, are ya, Miss P?”

“Sorry, Scout, but this is strictly professional,” she said.“I know you might not want to do this, since it might be strange for you to go on a pseudo-date with me.I could ask Spy to go if you’re not interested, but I might need him for the second part of the mission and it’s not exactly fair to—“

“Nah, it’s awright, I’ll do it!” he interjected.“No problem!I can do a _way_ better job at bein’ your fake boyfriend than frickin’ Spy, I know I can.”

He and Spy had been getting along semi-decently as of late, but Scout figured he’d better pull out all the stops to further convince Miss Pauling that his crush on her was still existent.If that meant throwing Spy under the bus to do that, then so be it.Spy was probably using his cloaking watch to hide in the corner of the room and eavesdrop, anyway.That was kind of his thing.

“Thank you,” she smiled.“How about we meet in the garage at six tomorrow evening?Oh, I forgot to mention, you’ll have to drive us there.It’ll look strange if we take separate vehicles.”

“Six?Awright, yeah.That’ll give me just enough time to hose off after work and throw some clean clothes on.That restaurant’s fancy, ain’t it?Like collared shirt and blazer, fancy?”

“Right, so wear something nice.But not too nice.We need to blend in.”

“I can do that,” Scout nodded.“Six o’ clock tomorrow, garage, fancy outfit.Right?”

“Right.”

“It’s a date, Miss P,” Scout grinned, throwing in a wink for good measure.

That pretty much concluded their little meeting in the rec room.They said their goodbyes, and they couldn’t have had better timing—as soon as Miss Pauling stood up to leave, her portable telephone began to ring.She excused herself, wedged the phone between her ear and her shoulder, and scurried from the room.

Scout had to sit there for a minute and process all of this.

Miss Pauling said that it wasn’t a date, but he’d be dressing in a nice outfit and driving her to a restaurant and spending an evening with her.It may technically be platonic, but it was still pretty much a date.

Sniper was _not_ gonna be happy about this, but Scout felt like he wasn’t in a position to tell Miss Pauling no.If he refused to go with her, that would look _beyond_ suspicious; the “old” Scout would never dream of passing up such a prime opportunity to spend quality time with Miss P.Matter of fact, had he refused, she might snoop around to find out Scout’s real reason for not going with her.He doubted she’d go to that much trouble, but you could never tell with her.So, to play it safe, he’d made the split decision to go with her.

Sniper was a good guy, he was so sweet and so trustworthy and—and he’d understand.He’d _understand_ , but that wouldn’t stop him from freaking out.From panicking.From pacing the floor the entire time Scout was off on a date with a woman.And not just any woman—the very woman Scout had had a crush on for years.It wasn’t fair for Scout to put Sniper in a place like that, but he felt like he didn’t have any other choice.

He’d tell Sniper about all this after he got off work that afternoon.If Scout told him before he left for Landfall, he’d obsess over it all day and it’d distract him from his job.Besides, Scout needed some time to work out how, exactly, he wanted to explain this whole mess. 

Scout groaned and rubbed fitfully at his eyes.He guessed he’d try and go back to bed for a little while.His sleep-deprived mind wasn’t thinking too clearly at the moment.

 

****

 

“You feelin’ okay?” Sniper asked.“You look a bit pale.”

Sniper had just emerged from his customary after-work shower, clean-shaven and blood-free.As Sniper joined him on the narrow camper couch, Scout took in his scent:it was forest-y, with a little hint of citrus.He’d like nothing more than to put his head against Sniper’s chest and let the sounds of the man’s inner workings ease him into a long, peaceful nap.

“I’m awright,” Scout said, trying not to think too much about sleeping.At this point in the afternoon, he may as well stay up for a few more hours and head to bed early.“I just didn’t get any sleep last night.Like, none.Well, twenty minutes, I guess, but I wouldn’t really count that as sleepin’.How’d you sleep?”

“‘Bout the same,” Sniper said.“Kept noddin’ off at work today.”

“Aw, jeez.That ain’t good.”

“Makes it a hell of a lot easier for the BLU spy to kill you when you’re sleepin’, I’ll tell you that.I don’t think you’ve been at work since that bloke started usin’ piano wire to strangle folks, have you?”

“Ew, definitely not.”

“You die a lot quicker than you’d think.You’ll either choke, or you’ll bleed t’death from your carotid artery bein’ cut in half.”Sniper drew a line across his neck with an index finger.“Happened to me three times today.Maybe four, I don’t remember.Got a bit used to it, I think.”

Scout could just imagine the BLU spy stringing a length of piano wire across an important choke point—ha ha, get it, _choke_ point—and laying a crafty trap for the RED team.Scout didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to his surroundings while he was running, so he could very easily get his head or his feet chopped off before he even knew what was happening.Suddenly, he was slightly less excited to go back to work.

“Hey, that reminds me,” Scout said.“I had a meetin’ with Miss P today.I’m goin’ back to work tomorrow.”

Sniper gave him a warm smile.Warm like a loving embrace, like a hand-knitted wool blanket, like steady breaths tickling the top of his head…just staring at the comforting familiarity of Sniper’s face and the tenderness behind that smile made his eyelids grow heavy.God, he’d kill for a nap.

“You’ve been ready to go back for awhile,” Sniper said.  “Be good to _have_ you back, too.  Better go talk to Truckie before the night’s over, though, he’ll probably have to work you back into tomorrow’s game plan.”

Engineer always took it upon himself to make tentative battle strategies whenever they changed locations or if BLU was on a winning streak.Putting Scout back into the equation would likely change things.Instead of surprising everybody tomorrow morning, he ought to do like Sniper said—pop by Hardhat’s garage and let him know he was back, just to be on the safe side.

And speaking of letting people know things…

“Oh, yeah, there was another thing,” Scout said.A squirming sensation worked its way deep into the muscle of his thigh, tempting him to tap-tap-tap his heel against the shag carpet, but he clamped a hand over his leg to prevent that.Outwardly displaying nervousness around a guy that was perpetually worried about everything was not such a good idea, and he tried to avoid it whenever he could control himself.

“It’s kinda hard to explain,” Scout continued.“After Miss P told me I could go back to work, I figured that was all she wanted, y’know?But she, uh, she kinda asked me to…go on this mission with her.After work ends tomorrow.”

Sniper leaned over to the coffee table, grabbed his mug, took a sip, plunked it back down onto its coaster.“That’ll be rough,” Sniper said.“After your first day back, I ‘spect you’ll be abou’ ready for a fifteen-hour nap when the day ends.What’s she got you doin’, anyhow?”

“That’s kinda, um…that’s the thing,” Scout said.His leg jounced against his palm.So much for keeping his cool.“She wants me to…go on a _date_ with her.”

To Scout’s surprise, Sniper’s face remained impassive when he mentioned the date.Matter of fact, the man didn’t miss a beat in carrying on the conversation. 

“Suppose she needs a bit o’ arm candy to help her blend in somewhere,” Sniper grinned.“Where’re you two headed?”

“Uh,” Scout said, a little taken aback at Sniper’s response.“There’s a restaurant that just opened up in Threepoint.She wouldn’t ever tell me why she needed to go there, just that she wanted me to go with her, so she could—well, like ya said, so she could blend in.Looks weird if ya go to a fancy restaurant alone, I guess.So she wants me to pretend I’m her…date.”

“How fancy is fancy?” Sniper asked.“Suit ’n’ tie, fancy?”

“Nah, she said not to wear anything _too_ fancy so we wouldn’t draw too much attention to us…”Scout trailed off, giving Sniper a curious look.“You’re takin’ this awful good, Snipes.You’re not…you’re not mad at me?”

Sniper looked genuinely confused.“I don’t reckon I am.Should I be?”

_Yeah, maybe a little_ , Scout thought.

“Well, it’s just, y’know,” Scout said, “I used to have that big crush on Miss P, before me and you got together, so”—shrug—“I didn’t think you’d be very happy about me and her goin’ on a fancy date together.”

“’S not a _real_ date, is it?” Sniper asked.

“Nah, nuttin’ like that, I’m just doin’ it ‘cause she needs a favor.”

“Miss Pauling don’t ask favors unless she really needs it,” Sniper said.“If she needs you to be her pretend husband for awhile, she’s got a good reason.”

“But what if I gotta kiss her, or sum’n?” Scout blurted.

That gave Sniper pause, but only for a moment.“Just, er…well, don’t enjoy it too much, ’n’ I suppose it’d be okay.”

It wasn’t like Sniper at all to be this calm and collected about something like this.Scout had expected to come in here and reassure him that it was just a job, nothing personal, he didn’t have any feelings for Miss Pauling anymore, all that was in the past, Scout was with _him_ now, he didn’t want to be with her anymore, it was just a job, just a job, just a job.But Sniper was tranquil, relaxed, and even smiling—exactly the opposite of what Scout was expecting. 

This was just _weird_.

Sniper must be trying not to show how worried about this he really was.That was the simplest logical explanation. 

“I’m glad this ain’t botherin’ you,” Scout said.“I really thought it would.”

“It’s just work,” Sniper said simply.“If Miss Pauling needs your help, you oughta go along wiv her.Think we both owe her a few favors, yeah?”

He had a point, there—Miss P had quite literally saved both of their lives.“Yeah,” Scout nodded.“ _More_ than a few, probably.Plus I thought it’d look pretty suspicious if I turned her down.”

“Definitely,” Sniper agreed. 

“So you’re not mad.”

Sniper shook his head.“Nope.”

“You’re _sure._ ”

He was smiling again.  “No, love.  I’m not angry.”

Still, Scout felt like he was doing A Bad Thing and Sniper had every right to be furious with him, but if Sniper said he was fine with it…he’d just have to take the man for his word.

It was like Sniper said—it was just work.

Just work.

 

****

 

Maybe he should’ve dressed up a little more, but Miss P specifically said not to wear anything too nice.He wanted to wear his dress shoes, but his feet were too swollen and achy from work, so he’d swapped his baseball cleats for his Chuck Taylors.And he had a couple pairs of dress pants, but he couldn’t get his ass crammed into any of them—just one day back at work definitely wasn’t enough exercise to make him shed his extra pounds.He had to settle for a pair of black jeans he’d just bought the other day to accommodate his slight increase in size.Jeans weren’t the dressiest thing he could wear, for sure, but at least they were black and not denim-blue, right?His gut strained the buttons of his collared shirt, but that was easily concealed with a red sweater vest. 

Not much he could do with his hair except sweep it off his forehead, comb it to one side, and secure it with pomade.His arms ached as he zinged the comb through the unruly strands, sore from a long day of swinging his baseball bat and toting his shotgun.His arms hurt pretty bad, but his legs were worse.It was taking half his energy just to keep himself standing.

But having dinner shouldn’t be too strenuous.At least he’d be able to sit down and rest his tired body.And maybe the food at this restaurant they were going to—what was it called again, Coronado’s?—wouldn’t be half-bad, either.

Just in case things turned sour, he tucked a pistol into the waistband of his jeans and covered it up with his sweater vest.The material of the vest was thick and loose enough that you couldn’t tell anything was back there.He felt a little bit defenseless without his trusty baseball bat strapped to his back, but he couldn’t very well take a bat into Coronado’s, obviously.

He gave himself a final once-over in the full-length mirror tacked to the back of his door, and he was glad he did—he’d forgotten all about his necklaces.He wore his dog tags like always, but now there was a sharp little shark tooth dangling just above them.He was so used to them being there that they just felt like a part of his body, but he knew neither of them would pass for classy-casual.He tucked them down into his shirt, feeling the cool reassurance of the metal and the tooth against his bare skin.

Wow, he looked like shit.Maybe if he was fifteen pounds lighter, had a haircut, and had gotten a full night’s rest, he might look okay.Nothing he could do about it at this point, though.

Still, just looking at himself all gussied up like that made him feel horrible all over again.This whole day, he’d been fighting against the waves of guilt that kept crashing over him every time he thought about tonight’s “date” with Miss P.Yeah, it wasn’t a _real_ date, but bare minimum, he was still getting dressed up and going out to dinner with a pretty lady.Having a nice dinner together at an upscale restaurant was something he and Sniper would never be able to do, unless they pretended to be two dudes discussing important business, or something like that. 

He narrowed his eyes at his reflection.How come he never wore anything like this in front of Sniper before?Was it because he didn’t feel like he needed to impress Sniper?Was it because he didn’t want others to suspect that the two of them were together?Was it because this is how normal people dressed on normal dates, and he and Sniper would never be _able_ to go on a normal date?

Whatever the reason, he’d never gone to this much trouble to spend time with Sniper, and it made him feel so, so bad.

_Just a mission_ , he told himself as he grabbed his keys from the nightstand.He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he nearly tripped over Amigo, the tatty orange cat that had taken up residence in his bedroom.He narrowly avoided stomping the cat’s tail by doing an awkward little hopscotch maneuver over him, sending a jolt of pain slicing through his left thigh.For half a second, he was pissed off at the cat for getting underfoot, but just looking his squashed little face and Brillo pad fur reminded him of the day Sniper pulled the injured animal from the scrub trees…he could remember that look of absolute pity on Sniper’s face so clearly in his mind’s eye.

And now Scout was going on a date with Miss Pauling and leaving Sniper all alone.Sniper said he didn’t care, but Scout knew he was just telling a little white lie to spare Scout’s feelings.He was probably over in the Winnebago worrying himself to death.Scout couldn’t blame him, either.If the tables were turned, and it was Sniper who’d had a crush on Miss P for six years, and _Sniper_ was the one going on this date, Scout would be beside himself with panic.

Maybe he should just call the whole thing off, he couldn’t do this to Sniper, he should just—

—No.He couldn’t do that.Like Sniper said yesterday, Miss Pauling didn’t ask for favors unless she really needed to.This could very well be a life-or-death situation for her.Who knew what was really going on behind the scenes?If she needed Scout to pose as her fake boyfriend, she was bound to have a very good reason.

He’d just have to suck it up and do this, then hope against all hope that Sniper’d be able to forgive him.

_Just a mission,_ he told himself again as he locked up his bedroom and headed for the garage.

 

****

 

Scout had to admit, Miss Pauling looked very pretty tonight.

She’d swapped her normal attire for a black halter dress and matching kitten heels.Black was a good color for her.It matched her hair, her glasses.Made her look just as mysterious as she really was.

He darted out of the car as fast as his sore legs would allow in an attempt to open her door for her—like a gentleman or whatever—but by the time he got there, she’d already opened her door and was halfway out of it.

“Sorry, Miss P.I was gonna open that for ya, but ya beat me to it,” he said, grinning sheepishly at her.

“It’s fine,” Miss Pauling said, slipping her purse—also black—onto her shoulder.She looked distracted, like she couldn’t care less about opening her own door.She glanced over at the front door of the restaurant before turning her gaze back to Scout.

“Okay.Now, I know I threw a lot at you on the ride over here.Do you have _any_ questions before we go inside?”

“Nah,” Scout said, “think I’m good.”

“So if I need us to get the hell out of there as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, what’s the code phrase?”

“Moon Pie,” Scout said dutifully.  Easy enough to remember, definitely.

“So if I say, ‘good-golly-gosh, I didn’t save room for dessert, honey!Maybe I’ll have a _Moon Pie_ later tonight when we get home,’ what do we do?”

“Calmly leave the restaurant without drawin’ attention to ourselves,” Scout told her, nodding once.

“And if I scratch my chin and then put my hand against the side of my face, what does that mean?”

“Means we’re bein’ watched, and be real wary a the surroundin’s.”

Miss Pauling looked the tiniest bit relieved.“I honestly don’t think this is going to be that big of a deal, but I always like to prepare for the worst.Now.No more work talk.We’re just your average couple celebrating their first wedding anniversary.” 

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.When she opened them again, she brought a smile to her lips and linked their arms together. 

“C’mon, honey, let’s head inside.I’m starving.”

 

****

 

It turned out to be one of those types of restaurants where you didn’t order a Coke or a Sprite or whatever, you ordered grown-up drinks.Champagne was complementary.Miss Pauling ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir for the table.

Scout hardly remembered what his dinner tasted like.He’d sawed through his New York strip steak with such force, he’d been half-surprised that he didn’t cut right through the plate.He’d been forced to drink a flute of champagne and part of a glass of wine so he didn’t rouse anyone’s suspicions—what kinda person wouldn’t drink anything with their dinner?—and it had taken all it had in him not to grab the neck of the wine bottle and chug it.

The wine bottle had called to him. _Drink me, Scout, drink me!_ it said. _Ya know ya wanna, what the hell’re ya waitin’ for?Your leg’s killin’ ya—drink me and you’ll feel aaaaaall beddah!_

But he’d managed to escape the restaurant without drinking another drop.He focused on the cool, smooth texture of the shark tooth necklace under his shirt, which he could feel against the skin of his chest each time he shifted a little bit in his seat.It would be better if he could touch it, if he could worry it between his thumb and forefinger.But even with it trapped under his shirt, it had been just enough to keep him under control.

Okay, no.It wasn’t the necklace that had kept him under control, it was who had given him that necklace to begin with.Every time he felt the shark tooth, he remembered a certain someone, and how disappointed that certain someone would be if he drank anymore.

He really shouldn’t have drank any to begin with, he knew that, but he hadn’t wanted to make a scene or get Miss Pauling in trouble.Deep down, he’d kill for another sip of that Pinot Noir, so cool and smooth and red in his wine glass…but he could just imagine the look in Sniper’s eyes if he came back from the restaurant drunk.The I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed look.

And another reason why he was glad he didn’t drink anymore—Miss Pauling had polished off the whole bottle of wine (sans one glass) herself, not to mention the glasses of champagne she’d had (Scout hadn’t counted them).To Scout’s surprise, she wasn’t nearly as drunk as any normal human should’ve been, but she was red-faced and smiling by the time the exited the restaurant.

The cold night air felt good on Scout’s skin.His hands were shaking, which, all things considered, was a very small penance to pay for drinking a serving-and-a-half of alcohol.The moon was bulging and bright in the sky—hunter’s moon, Sniper called it.Earlier that day, Sniper had told him to be sure and look up at the night sky so he could see this so-called hunter’s moon.Kind of an appropriate name for it, if Scout thought about it.He could picture Sniper crouching and creeping through the trees, an arrow nocked into his bow, using only the light of the hunter’s moon to stalk his prey.

He didn’t want to be here, leaving a nice restaurant with his arm around Miss Pauling’s shoulders, guiding her slightly wobbly steps back to his car.He wanted to be in Sniper’s camper bitching about his first day back at work, babbling and griping away while Sniper sipped his coffee and nodded in silent agreement.The camper was small and a little bit cramped, but it was feeling more and more like home to him.He knew there’d be a can of Coke in the fridge when he got there.He could get the taste of wine out of his mouth.Of all the times he could’ve forgotten to put a pack of gum in his pocket, it had to be tonight.

But as he lowered Miss Pauling into the passenger’s seat of his car, it was like he was lowering a coffin into the dirt.Tonight had been the final nail in that coffin.He could say with certainty that his crush on her was definitely dead.

Seeing her like this, slightly drunk and vulnerable, made him feel a pang of love for her, he wouldn’t deny it.But not the romantic kind of love.He loved her like he’d love Tommy or Anthony or Randy or Vinny or Freddy or Danny or Stanley.

She was like a sister to him.He didn’t have a sister, obviously, but he knew how to be somebody’s brother for sure.Doing somebody a favor like, say…pretending to be their date so they could scope out a restaurant for their job, then driving their drunk ass home?That’s something a good younger brother would do for their older sister, wasn’t it?

“Buckle up, Miss P,” Scout said, starting up the engine. 

As he waited patiently for her to fumble with the belt, he felt a tugging in his chest.He couldn’t wait to get back to the base.Right then, he had about a million things to say, but no one to say them to—he needed to tell Sniper so many things.Sniper was probably beside himself with worry, anyhow.As soon as he made sure Miss Pauling got wherever she needed to go, he’d head out to Sniper’s camper and tell him all about his…interesting evening.

 

****

 

For a reason Scout couldn’t quite explain, he was a little nervous as he knocked on the camper door.

“It’s open,” shouted a muffled voice from within.At least Sniper didn’t sound angry; he sounded more distracted than anything.

The whole ride home, Scout had racked his brain for what he should say to Sniper first, but he couldn’t exactly come up with anything.Normally, he was pretty good at plucking bits of conversation out of thin air and running with them, so he was hoping he’d know the right thing to say when the time came.Scout opened the door and climbed into the camper. 

As soon as he got the door shut behind him, he was greeted with the sight of Sniper making a beeline for the kitchen sink, his hands and forearms smeared with grease. 

“I’d have let you in meself, but I’m covered in oil,” Sniper said, holding his dirty limbs as far away from the rest of his body as he could.He made his way to the sink, drizzled his arms with dish soap, and turned on the tap.“Been cleanin’ me gun while you were out.”

Laid out on the diner-style table were the dismantled components of at least one rifle, a squat little tube of gun grease, several soiled shop towels, and something that was probably a toothbrush at one point in time.By the state of the table and Sniper’s arms, it looked like he’d been cleaning that thing all evening.

_Maybe he has been_ , Scout thought, feeling that little twinge of guilt fester within him again.

“I hate it when I gotta clean my guns,” Scout said, stepping just past Sniper and opening up the fridge.It was getting a little empty in there, Scout noted, grabbing a can of soda from its innards.They’d need to go shopping soon.“You like it, though, dont’cha?”

“I don’t mind it,” Sniper said, raising his voice to be heard over the sink stream.  “’S a bit calming.”

Scout took his drink to the couch and sat down, immediately kicking his shoes off.He was still uncomfortable in his semi-fancy clothes, but freeing his aching feet from his Chuck Taylors was a marked improvement.He wiggled his toes and popped his soda open. 

“I’ll just bring my guns over here next time they need cleanin’, then,” Scout called into the kitchen.

Sniper turned the sink off, fished a dish towel from one of the kitchen drawers, and dried his hands and arms with it.“Dunno if I could put a shotgun back together, but I could give it a go.You look nice.”

Mildly surprised, Scout looked down at himself, then back at Sniper.“Oh, thanks,” he said.“Actually I was a little underdressed, but I don’t think anybody noticed.”

Sniper tossed the dish towel onto the cabinet and joined Scout on the couch.“How’d it go?Did Miss Pauling get what she needed, or did she say?”

“Didn’t say.Every time I’d try to ask about it, she’d tell me it was classified, or whatever.”

“Mm.Figured she wouldn’t tell you much abou’ anything.”

“It was a drag, honestly,” Scout said.“The whole time I was there, I was scared I was gonna do sum’n or say sum’n dumb, so I basically just sat there tryin’ not to fall asleep.”

“You know in the movies where they go to a fancy place like that ’n’ the whole menu’s in French?Was it like that?”

“Nah, it was in English, but there was some really weird crap I ain’t ever heard of on there.Miss P ordered some kinda fish with the head still on, like it _looked_ at her the whole time she was eatin’ it.”Scout curled his lip a little at the memory.“Figured I was pretty safe with steak, so that’s what I had, but I couldn’t even tell ya what it tasted like.I really just wanted to get the hell outta there ‘cause they kept—“

He paused.He nearly said “‘cause they kept refilling my glass with liquor” but he caught himself before he blurted that out.He was considering keeping that little detail from Sniper, about his drinking; it definitely wasn’t something he was proud of.But he hated the thought of harboring a secret from Sniper, no matter how small.Scout decided to tell him about it, then.

Sniper gave him a curious look.“Kept what?”

“Aw, you’re gonna be disappointed in me, I bet,” Scout said, “but I’ll finish what I was gonna say.They kept, like—okay, the first thing the waiter did when me and Miss P sat down was hand us our menus and pour us a glass a sham-pain.Like we didn’t order it or nuttin’, it was whaddya call it— _complementary_ , yeah.And then Miss P ordered a whole frickin’ bottle a wine for us to ‘share’”—Scout put air quotes around the word—“so the waiter poured me a glass a that, too.So here I frickin’ am with two glasses a booze I’m expected to drink, and I didn’t even ask for ‘em.”

“God,” Sniper said.“Must’ve been hard, not…not drinkin’ ‘em.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Scout said, his guilt coming back with a vengeance.“I, uh…I kinda _did_ drink ‘em, though.”

“Must not’ve drank a whole lot,” Sniper pointed out.“You’re certainly sober right now.”

“Yeah, I _will_ say that for myself.I drank one little thing a sham-pain and half a glass a wine.‘Cause I kept thinkin’ if I _didn’t_ drink anything, the waiter or somebody might remember me, or I’d stick out, or sum’n, and I might ruin Miss P’s mission.Maybe I was just tellin’ myself that so I could take a few sips, though.I dunno.”

“But you were able to control yourself,” Sniper said. 

“It was _real_ hard,” Scout said.“I don't even remember what my dinner tasted like, or nuttin’.And my hands are _still_ shakin’ like a frickin’ leaf.”He held up his trembling hands for emphasis.

Sniper grabbed Scout’s shaking hands, holding them tight in his own.“You’ve come a long way.Be proud o’ that.”

A lopsided smile spread across Scout’s face.“Y’know what, maybe that does mean I’ve come a long way.”But his smile faltered as a thought came to his mind.“I just…I feel so bad, leavin’ ya here while I went out with Miss P.I know ya said it didn’t bother ya, but I mean…I can tell ya were nervous about it.”

Sniper averted his gaze for half a second, then looked back to Scout.“Maybe a bit, yeah.”

“And I don’t blame ya,” Scout said with a shake of his head.  “If I was you, I woulda been nervous, too.  But I _promise_ nuttin’ happened between me and Miss P, everything was a hundred percent professional.  Well, except when I had to put my arm around her shoulder to get her back to the car.  She drank most a that wine herself, so she was kinda drunk by the end a the night.  Other than that, it was all business.”

Sniper gave him a shallow nod.“Yeah, ’s fine.Don’t worry.I believe you.”

But there was something still bothering Sniper, Scout could tell.  There was something about Sniper’s eyes—something indescribable, but there all the same.  Scout opened his mouth to ask about it, but instead of words, a yawn passed through his lips.

“You look right exhausted, love.”

“I am,” Scout admitted.“My first day back at work, and then I had to go sit through a dinner-mission-whatever with Miss P…I’m worn out.”

Sniper leaned over and gave him a barely-there peck on the forehead.“Why don’t you go on ’n’ head to bed, then?”

“But I just got here, though.”

“You won’t be hurtin’ me feelings, I promise,” Sniper assured him.“Think you need as much rest as you can get before work tomorrow.”

As much as Scout wanted to spend half the night with Sniper, just doing something simple like watching TV or something, Sniper had a point.  He’d feel like absolute shit tomorrow if he didn’t grab all the sleep he could get.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Scout grumbled.“Listen, though.Tomorrow afternoon?We’ll do whatever ya want, I swear.”

Sniper gave him one of those warm, genuine smiles that Scout could never get enough of.“Sure.Sounds good.”

Though difficult, Scout limited himself to two seconds as he kissed Sniper goodbye.Scout may have been exhausted beyond belief, but no doubt he could muster up the energy to kiss Sniper for hours. 

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Scout said, one hand resting on the door handle, the other still clutching at Sniper’s shirt collar.He hadn’t meant to say that—he hated when he said stupid crap like that—but there was no taking it back now.

“I’m not.”Sniper craned his head down and brushed his lips against the corner of Scout’s mouth.“G’night, love.”

“Yeah, g’night.Love you.”

“Love you.”

Walking across the backyard, heading to the main part of the base, Scout couldn’t help but feel that his visit with Sniper had ended on a sour note.  No ill words had been exchanged, and if anybody had been looking in on the two of them, they probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it…but something just didn’t _feel_ right. 

Halfway between Sniper’s camper and the main base, Scout stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder.There was still a light on in Sniper’s camper, glowing dully through the single curtained window.Should he go back?What would he say if he did?He couldn’t put what he was feeling into words, so he’d likely just stand there babbling like an idiot.Maybe he ought to think about it for a minute and just talk it over with Sniper tomorrow.

Yeah, tomorrow.Maybe a good night’s sleep would help him get his head straightened out, anyway.

Scout jammed his hands into his pockets and resumed his trek across the backyard.His mind was still screaming _go back, go back, go back_ , but it wouldn't do him any good tonight.He was too tired, he wasn’t thinking straight, he needed to go to bed.He’d think about all this again in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's just a tiny bit late...but I couldn't get it just how I wanted it and kept deleting big chunks of it. Plus it's a pretty long chapter. Normally I try to update my story every Sunday, but I can already tell you that I won't have a new chapter done by then. I'll just have the new chapter up...whenever? Lmao I'm not sure how long it'll take me, but rest assured that I've already got an idea for it! I will be writing diligently.
> 
> But if you're ever curious about when the next update will be, or if you're wondering if I'm still working on the current chapter, go to my tumblr page and have a gander!! It's cornpony (dot) tumblr (dot) com. I'll post something there if the next chapter's gonna be horribly late.
> 
> And the part of this chapter where Scout's looking at himself in the mirror, wearing his fancy clothes and feeling bad that he and Sniper could never go on a 'real' date? I hope I didn't offend anybody with that part. I didn't mean 'oh woe is me I'm not straight so my whole life is gonna be miserable forever.' I could go into boring detail about why I wrote it that way, but to put it to you simply  
> 1)Scout still has some internalized homophobia   
> 2)it's the 70s so there's period-typical homophobia to consider  
> 3)he and Miss Pauling could hold hands, etc in public on a date and he and Sniper couldn't (see #1 and #2) and that's kinda what he meant by a 'real' date


	24. Chapter 24

Another sleepless night.Sniper couldn’t stop thinking _I should’ve done this_ or _why didn’t I say that_ and by the time his eyelids finally grew heavy, his alarm clock trilled in his ear.He switched it off with a huff and clambered down from his bunk.

He shrugged into his clothes while the coffee was brewing.He’d be needing all the caffeine he could get today.He drank a cup, went into the bathroom to shave his face and comb his hair, then drank another cup.He poured the remainder of the coffee into a thermos and stuck it in his rucksack.He’d be filling up plenty of piss jars today, he knew that for certain.

His morning routine was done in a rush.Though his sleep-deprived mind never quite formed the thought completely, he was trying to get ready as fast as possible so he could talk to Scout before work.Things hadn’t gone like he’d wanted them to last night; the tension inside the camper had been so thick, he could’ve cut it with his kukri knife.He’d _tried_ to be as nice as he could, because Scout had done absolutely nothing wrong and it was his own stupid self blowing things all out of proportion, but he had the feeling he’d been snippy.Not to mention Scout had said _please don’t be mad at me_ in a sad voice, had looked up at Sniper with even sadder eyes…

Sniper knew he couldn’t go to work without trying to iron things out.He wasn’t sure what he would say to Scout, exactly, but he had to try and say _some_ thing.His own work performance suffering was one thing, but he didn’t want Scout to have a hard time of it, too.More often than not, Scout was in the thick of the action on the battlefield; if he was preoccupied thinking about last night’s events, he’d likely die a lot more than he had to.Respawn was a lovely thing, but if it could be avoided, it ought to be. 

He double-checked his rucksack to make sure he had everything, then sat it by the door next to his rifle.That was one good thing about last night, Sniper supposed—in his nervousness, he’d opted to calm himself down by cleaning every nook and cranny of his favorite gun, scrubbing and buffing every tiny piece of it till it practically glittered.For the time being, he’d leave his things sitting there; he’d come back for them later.He switched off all the lights in the camper and headed out.

It was around six in the morning, so the sun hadn’t yet begun to lighten the sky.Sniper hugged his arms to his chest and ducked his head low, trying to shield himself from the chilly wind.He hadn’t put on a coat or sweater since he wasn’t going far, but he wished he would have.It wasn’t even that cold out, but it was like the frigid air blew right through his clothes and burrowed deep into his bones.He quickened his pace as he walked toward the base’s back patio.

Thankfully, the sliding glass door leading off the patio and into the kitchen was unlocked.Sniper had already decided that if it was locked, he wasn’t going to bother waiting about for someone to walk into the kitchen and let him in; it was too bloody cold for that.He went inside and slid the door shut behind him, the warmth of the room settling over him in a pleasant wave.He could smell fresh coffee and what was probably waffles (pancakes?), but he didn’t bother looking into the main kitchen area to see what was going on.Maybe if he was lucky, he wouldn’t meet anyone, and he could slip away to Scout’s bedroom unseen.That would probably be the best, since he was rubbish at small-talk. 

He kept his eyes straight ahead, and in doing that, he could see that there was no one seated at the huge dinner table that took up half the kitchen-slash-dining-room.Good.Now all he had to do was walk past it, then take a few more steps, and he’d be out in the hallway—

“Good morning, Herr Sniper.”

_Piss_.

Trying his best not to wince at being caught, Sniper stopped in his tracks and turned around.Medic was in the corner of the kitchen leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands.The grin on Medic’s face reminded Sniper of that purple cat from _Alice in Wonderland_.It was unsettling, but then again, Sniper was beginning to suspect Medic couldn’t smile any other way.Sniper decided not to read too much into it.

“Oh, er, didn’t see you there, Doc,” Sniper said, stepping a little closer.He could never remember how close one should get when talking to someone, but he reckoned putting about two, two and a half meters between them should be fine.He shoved his hands in his pockets, then promptly took them out again, letting them flop down to his sides.“Morning.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Herr Sniper?You’re welcome to borrow one of my mugs.”

More coffee did sound nice, but he didn’t want to prolong this encounter any longer than he had to.“I would, but I’ve just had some.Before I left me camper.So I’d—I’d better not, thanks.”

Medic nodded as he brought his mug to his lips and took a cautious sip—still hot, likely.“So I hear Scout and Miss Pauling went on a mission together last night, ja?”

Sniper blinked at Medic in surprise.For a moment he wondered how the man could possibly know about that, but then again, this was a small place.Word travelled fast. 

“Heard about that, did you?” Sniper said, trying to smile good-naturedly.

“It must have been very strange for Scout, to pretend to be out for a romantic evening with his former love interest.”

How did Medic know that Miss Pauling was Scout’s _former_ love interest?Sniper certainly hadn’t mentioned his and Scout’s relationship to him—maybe Scout had, though?Sniper couldn’t think of a reason Scout would do that, but then again, Scout was a bit of a blabbermouth.He might’ve let it slip.

If Sniper thought he was uncomfortable before, he was in agony now.He wanted very much to turn on his bootheel and run far, far away from this whole interaction.What was he even supposed to say in response to that? 

Sniper supposed he could be honest about it.Doc was in love with a bloke, as well, so he wouldn’t be looked down upon.Right?Birds of a feather, and all that?

“He said it was boring, actually,” Sniper said, fidgeting with the worn leather band of his wristwatch. _Bout time for a new one o’ these,_ he thought absently.

“Miss Pauling was investigating a restaurant, was she not?”

“Yeah.  Don’t remember the name of it, but it’s over in Threepoint.”

“It must have been a fairly nice place, judging by the clothes Scout was wearing yesterday evening.”

“It’s some fancy place, yeah.  I don’t suppose you know what Miss Pauling’s lookin’ for, do you?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Medic said, taking another drink of coffee.“You certainly must trust Scout a lot, to let him go out on the town with her.”Medic smiled over the rim of his mug.

Sniper could think of many things to respond to that with, but most of them weren’t very nice.Medic didn’t seem to have any ill intent with that statement, though, so Sniper wouldn’t say anything rude. 

“It was only business,” Sniper muttered.“It weren’t a real date, or anything.”

Medic’s gaze softened.“I know that, Herr Sniper, I was only teasing you.It’s hard to tell with me, I know.I only brought it up because I saw Scout come through here last night, on his way back from your place.He looked troubled.Did the two of you, eh…have a disagreement?”

_I reckon that’s not any o’ your business_ , Sniper wanted to say, but he would never.“Not…not really, no, but it was a bit…strange.’S what I’m doin’ in here, actually.I’d like to talk wiv him before we go to work.”

“Ja,” Medic nodded, “I assumed that’s what you were in here for.”He paused for a moment, and though Sniper wasn’t the best at reading faces, it looked like Medic was considering whether or not he should say the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” Medic went on, “but I have noticed quite a bit of change in Scout since the two of you began seeing one another.Good change.This won’t be the last time the two of you get into a lover’s quarrel, but rest assured that you will come out stronger when you work this out together.That’s one of the beauties of being in such a compatible relationship, wouldn’t you say?”

Offhand, Sniper really didn’t know his opinion on all of that; he’d have to sit and study on it for awhile.But for now, he simply nodded his head in agreement.

“Yeah,” Sniper said.“Y’might be right, Doc.”He took a cautious half-step backward.“Er, well…I hate to run off, but—“

Medic flapped a hand in Sniper’s direction.“Ja.Go, go.I’ll see you at work.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Sniper said, attempting a smile.He gave Medic a curt little nod and scurried out of the kitchen before he became ensnared in another conversation.

The hallway, which looked familiar and foreign at the same time, was mercifully devoid of any mercenaries other than himself.He hurried his way to Scout’s door, screwed his eyes shut, and knocked on it before he could talk himself out of it.

Sniper counted the seconds in his head.Six of them went by before he heard the sound of the doorknob turning.He popped his eyes open and tried to contort his face into some kind of neutral expression, something non-terrified.He didn’t know why he’d been afflicted by a sudden burst of fear—it was only Scout—but then again, when did he _ever_ know why he was afraid?

A beautiful blue eye peeked out the crack in the door before swinging it open completely.Scout was clad in one of his faded red work shirts, a rather snug-fitting pair of boxer-briefs, and knee-high socks with little red stripes near the top elastic.He raked a hand through his sleep-tousled hair and looked at Sniper with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

Sniper turned his head away and stared down at the tile floor.He cleared his throat nervously.“Sorry, I…I can come back later, if you were gettin’ dressed.”

“Huh?Oh, nah, I just wait to put my pants on till the last minute sometimes.”He craned his head into Sniper’s line of sight and lowered his voice.“I’ve seen ya in _your_ underwear before, y’know.” 

Undoubtedly, he was referring to the night he’d slept in Sniper’s camper, when they’d gone to visit Area 51 together.Sniper had started undressing out of habit, completely forgetting that Scout was present. 

“But that was on accident,” Sniper said, though he was smiling now.Scout seemed to be in good spirits today.Maybe last night hadn’t been as awful as he’d imagined it was. 

“Come in here, I wanna show ya sum’n,” Scout said, beckoning him inside.Sniper obeyed, closing the door behind him.

Scout’s bedroom hadn’t changed much since Sniper had last been in it, which must have been close to a month ago.The worn-out Red Sox blanket was still on his bed, currently wadded into a lumpy heap.No telling how long Scout had held onto that thing.A part of Sniper wanted to get (knit?) him a new one, but the old blanket was bound to be sentimental.His dirty clothes hamper was overflowing.Many times, Sniper had offered to throw Scout’s laundry into an adjacent washing machine while his own was going—no trouble, really—but Scout wouldn’t hear of it.Probably a matter of pride, if Sniper wanted to hazard a guess.The floor was littered with a colorful variety of cat toys, and the cat himself was lazing in a wicker basket at the foot of Scout’s bed.The only noticeable change was something slim and black—a book?—wedged between the mattress and bed frame.Whatever it was, it was obvious that Scout was trying to hide it, albeit doing a poor job of it.Sniper wouldn’t ask about it.

“Since I got my pants off anyway, I want ya to look at this,” Scout said.

Sniper’s eyes widened as Scout hiked the left leg of his boxer-briefs all the way up to the place where thigh met pubic area.At first, Sniper thought this situation might be headed toward more risqué territory, but those thoughts were dashed when he saw what Scout wanted him to look at. 

“Check that out,” Scout said, running his finger along a sizable lump near the top of his leg.“Putcha hand there, feel that.”

Just thinking about putting his hand so close to Scout’s nethers made his face grow hot, but he did as he was told, gently running his fingertips over the raised flesh.It felt…odd.He ran his fingers over it again, with more pressure this time.Deep beneath what must’ve been scar tissue was something solid, round, and about the size of a dime.

“Bloody hell,” Sniper muttered, “what is that?”

“One a the screws Doc put in there to keep that rod from movin’ around,” Scout answered, grinning.“Kinda weird, huh?There’s one down here, too.”He held his leg aloft and pointed to a similar lump just above his kneecap.Sniper felt compelled to sample the texture of that one, too, so he did.

“Do they hurt?” Sniper asked.

“I can barely feel ya touchin’ ‘em.They don’t hurt at all.”

“Weird,” Sniper said.He pointed to a little red line running vertical along Scout’s knee.“Is that the only place he had to cut you open?That place, there?”

“Well, he had to cut where the screws are to get ‘em in there, but I don’t think they’re gonna even leave a mark.You can’t even see ‘em unless you’re really lookin’.”

Scout pointed to a milky gash in the middle of his thigh.“Check that one out, that’s from the first time I broke my leg.The bone broke through my frickin’ skin right there.”

Sniper wasn’t squeamish by any means, but thinking of Scout’s femur—the strongest bone in the human body, mind—popping out of his skin was enough to turn his stomach.He grimaced.

“How’d you break it the first time, anyhow?”

Scout gave him a quizzical look.“I never told ya that story before?”

“Not yet.”

Scout bit the inside of his cheek and sighed through his nose.“Not a helluva lot to tell, actually.One a my Ma’s boyfriends— _Randall_ —thought it’d be a real fun idea to pick a fight with me, tellin’ me since I was eighteen, I needed to move outta the apartment.I guess the fact I was payin’ frickin’ rent to stay there since I was fifteen didn’t matter a whole lot to him.

I was comin’ home from work pretty late one night.I had to work overtime ‘cause we got frickin’ _robbed_ and these two guys made the whole store look like a tornado—“

“You worked at a grocery store, I take it?”

“Yeah, yeah, guess I shoulda mentioned that part, but yeah.We stayed open till midnight, and these assholes came in to wreck everything about five minutes before we closed.And the guy that owns the place was nearly eighty years old, not in good shape, so I cleaned the place up for him before I went home.”

“Awful sweet of you.”

Scout gave him a small smile.“What kinda guy would I be if I made a little old man clean up flour and glass and shit?Anyway, fast forward, I got home about three or three-thirty in the mornin’. _Randall_ was passed out on the couch with a beer bottle still in his hand—typical.I pretty much hated his guts, so I wasn’t exactly tryin’ not to wake him up, or nuttin’.I turned the livin’ room light on so I could see to get to my bedroom and he woke up _screamin’_.Who the hell do I think I am comin’ home so late, I need to move out and get my own place, I need to start bein’ a _man_.Still drunk, obviously.Threw the beer bottle at my head but he missed, and it hit the wall behind me and broke into a hundred pieces. 

And I’ve about had it at that point.Some guy’s stickin’ a gun in my face at work and I come home to Ma’s drunk-ass boyfriend throwin’ shit at me?I don’t think so, y’know?I let him know he better not throw nuttin’ else at me ever again or I’ll beat his frickin’ ass.

He gets up off that couch and pulls a _crowbar_ outta the couch cushion.What the hell, right?He musta been plannin’ to hit me with it soon as I came home, is all I can figure out, ‘cause why else would a crowbar be in the couch? 

Now I might be dumb, but I ain’t stupid.I know I can’t win against a drunk guy with a crowbar when I ain’t got nuttin’ to defend myself with.So I try to make it to the kitchen, ‘cause my big plan was to grab a knife from the knife block.Not a good plan, I know, but I couldn’t think a nuttin’ else that fast.I’m runnin’ backward and he just rears back and _whams_ that crowbar into my leg.Imagine crunchin’ a ice cube in your mouth, y’know that sound?That’s what it sounds like when your leg snaps and pops through the skin.”

Sniper made a noise of disgust as he pictured the scene—and that sound—in his mind.“That’s awful, love.”He wished he could say more, but he knew nothing he said would help.“Did…did your mum ever figure out it was her boyfriend who…?”

Scout nodded sadly.“She saw the whole thing.Matter a fact, he was comin’ at me with that crowbar again, and I really think he mighta killed me if Ma hadn’t been there.She whacked him over the head with a fryin’ pan, just like in a cartoon or sum’n.”A wan smile crept across his face.“I passed out after that, I guess.Next thing I remember, I was in the backseat of a taxi with my head in Ma’s lap.She said our neighbor come over to see what all the noise was for and helped her get me down to the first floor.I dunno.When we got back from the hospital, good ol’ Randall was gone.Never heard from him again.”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

“Yeah…Ma never did forgive herself for all that, she thinks it’s her fault.I kept tellin’ her it ain’t, y’know, but she kept tellin’ me how sorry she was, and…”He shucked up a shoulder.His eyes had grown glassy.“Just a real bad time to break my leg.I missed out on a baseball scholarship so I couldn’t afford to go to college, and that’s when I started takin’ those Codeine pills… _that_ was a whole buncha shit I coulda done without, I can tell ya that for frickin’ sure.”

Sniper dug his fingernails into his wrist, scratching furiously.He hardly realized he was doing it, nor could he keep from it.“I didn’t mean to…to bring all this up, I shouldn’t’ve…”

“It’s weird, though,” Scout muttered, furrowing his brow.“I mean, if ya think about it, if…if he hadn’t broke my leg that night, I guess I might not be here right now, huh?” 

He reached up and picked a loose thread from Sniper’s shirt, flicking it to the floor.He straightened Sniper’s shirt collar, which hadn’t needed any straightening in the first place.He put the flat of his palm against Sniper’s chest and smoothed a wrinkle from the front of his shirt. 

Sniper knew what Scout was doing all too well.He was trying to keep his hands busy to avoid thinking of something troubling, much as he himself had done last night—hence the reason his favorite gun was so squeaky clean.Busy-work really helped to keep your mind occupied, kept the bad thoughts from creeping too far in. 

Scout looked like he might be about to cry.

“I…”Sniper cleared his throat.“I know it’s a bit strange I came to your room this morning.”He was trying in a not-so-subtle way to change the subject.Maybe that would help matters.“I wanted to clear the air, guess you could say.I feel rotten abou’ last night.”

“Yeah, I feel kinda weird about last night, too,” Scout said, apparently eager to latch onto the subject change.

Sniper’s shoulders sagged.“‘M sorry, love.I, erm…well.I dunno how to…you know I’m awful at this sort of thing, I don’t really know what to say, but…”

“Well, it’s like a told ya last night, it was strictly business with me and Miss P.Look, I know I used to have this huge thing for her, but ya wanna know sum’n?Last night made me realize that—okay, I’m just gonna be blunt here.Miss P was wearin’ this dress that barely covered her ass and it had one a those whaddya call ‘ems”—he traced a diamond shape in the middle of his chest with his finger—“boob windows?Like the little hole right here?Now—now I’m _really_ thinkin’ that if I was still crazy about her, I’d’ve been slobberin’ all over her.But guess what?”

Scout paused, looking at Sniper expectantly.Sniper supposed he was meant to respond to that.

“What?” he said cautiously.

“I’ll tell ya what.There I am, sittin’ across from the prettiest lady in the room, the lady I usedta think was my dream girl…and the whole time I was sittin’ there, I couldn’t quit thinkin’ about _you_ , Snipes.”He prodded a finger into Sniper’s chest. 

Sniper found that hard to believe.Between a woman like Miss Pauling and _him_ , why would anybody pick him?He wasn’t much.Didn’t have hardly anything he could offer.He was a lot of trouble, honestly, what with all his nervous tics and panicking and a whole shopping list of other things. 

But when he looked down at the man in front of him, he knew.He could tell.Those glimmering blue eyes he fancied so much were full of nothing but fondness.Fondness for _him_.He knew he didn’t deserve that look of fondness, but he appreciated it all the same.He’d try his bloody best to earn it.

“That’s, well.I’m.I’m glad you—hm.Th…thanks.For that.No, I mean—I’m glad.That you, well, that you were thinkin’ of me.”

Scout laughed a little.Sniper couldn’t blame him; he was awful when it came to talking about things like this, could never quite get the hang of explaining himself.At least Scout didn’t look irritated or angry with him.That was always a plus.

“For the record, I woulda _much_ rather had dinner at Waffle House,” Scout said, grinning up at him.“With you,” he added.

“Yeah?” Sniper said, returning the smile as best he could. 

“For sure.”

Half the wind was knocked out of Sniper as a small man lunged into his chest, and the other half of his wind was squeezed from him as that same small man wrapped his arms as tight as he could get them around Sniper’s middle.It took Sniper by surprise for a fleeting moment, but he was quick to return the gesture, although not quite so gruffly. 

Scout began talking again, his mouth moving against Sniper’s shirt, and it was all Sniper could do to decipher the murmured buzz of Scout’s speech.

“But it’s like I told ya last night, if sum’n woulda happened between me and her, I woulda come clean and said sum’n about it.I wouldn’t keep sum’n like that from ya, I swear I wouldn’t.And also like I told ya last night, ya had every right to be worried about this whole situation here.I mean, if it’d been _me_ in your situation, I woulda been bouncin’ off the walls till ya got back.So I think what I’m tryin’ to get at is, how ‘bout we just put this whole thing behind us?I hate it when you’re all worried like this, Snipes, I don’t want ya to worry about this anymore.”

Sniper smoothed his hand over the top of Scout’s head as he pondered those words.He trusted Scout.No question about that.So it would stand to reason, then, that if he trusted this man clamped against his chest, then the words the man had just spoken were true.Yes, of course Scout was telling him the truth.Sniper knew that, believed that.Nothing had happened between Scout and Miss Pauling, nothing _would_ happen between Scout and Miss Pauling.Scout said he’d spent the whole evening thinking of Sniper.And while Sniper didn’t know what was so special about him, if that was what Scout said, he would believe it.

Because deep within himself, he knew Scout would never lie to him about something like this.

“‘M sorry,” Sniper said again, his hand cradling the back of Scout’s head.

“Me too.”

Scout loosened himself from the embrace enough so that he could look up at Sniper.“Anybody ever tell ya that ya give really good hugs?”

Sniper grinned.“You know I don’t go round huggin’ folks.Other than family, you’re the first.”

“Guess that means I don’t gotta share ya with nobody, huh?”

Sniper’s teeth were flashing through his smile now.“Right.”

“Y’know I could stay like this all day, but guess what?”

“What?”

“Me ’n’ you got somewhere to be this mornin’.”

It took Sniper a moment to realize what Scout was talking about.His eyes widened.

“I forgot all abou’ goin’ to work!” he said.“And you’ve not even got any trousers on!”

Scout stood on tiptoe and grazed their lips together before disentangling himself from Sniper’s arms.“Or shoes.Or a belt.Gotta eat some breakfast.” 

He threw the closet open and yanked a pair of pants off the hanger, seemingly at random.“Ya eat any breakfast yet?” Scout said as he slipped into the garment.

“I had coffee,” Sniper said, averting his gaze as Scout slipped a hand down the front of his pants and adjusted his package. 

“That ain’t breakfast, Snipes,” Scout admonished.He zipped and buttoned his pants, then turned his head this way and that, apparently looking for something.

“What’re you lookin’ for?” Sniper asked him.“Belt?”

“Yeah, ya see it anywhere?”

If there was one thing Sniper could pride himself on, it was his sharp eyes.He carefully scanned every nook and cranny of the room until he spotted a familiar belt buckle poking up from the cat’s basket.He ambled over to the basket, bent down, and gave the sleeping Amigo a little tap.Amigo made a _prrrrp_ sound of agitation.

“Oi.”

“Mrrr?”

Sniper grabbed the belt and tugged it out from under the cat.“You’re a belt thief now, are you?”

“He’s an _everything_ thief,” Scout said, taking the belt from Sniper’s hand and putting it on with practiced swiftness.“Mainly he takes crap from Pyro’s room and brings it in here, but look.”

Scout bent down and retrieved a grease-stained bandana from the basket.“Pretty sure this is Hardhat’s bandana, and look what else.”Scout picked up a dingy sock.“This ain’t one a mine, and it definitely ain’t one a Pyro’s.I dunno whose this is.”

“What kind o’ outlaw are you raising?” Sniper said, stooping down to scratch the cat under his chin.

“Heh.He is what he is.”

_He is what he is._

Why did that strike Sniper as being so profound?He’d have to mull that over up in his perch, later.

After allotting Amigo a few more rounds of petting and chin-scratching, Sniper straightened back up and checked his watch.About 7:10.There was nearly an hour left before they’d all head out on the teleporter to Landfall, so they were still good on time.He took a few steps over and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to sit on top of whatever it was Scout was hiding under his mattress.

As soon as Scout managed to track down both of his baseball cleats, which had been on opposite ends of the room, he joined Sniper on the bed and put them on.Once they were on his feet, he did a little jerk, like he was about to stand up but thought better of it.His eyes brightened as he looked up at Sniper.

“Oh, hey, ya ever think about what ya might wanna do this afternoon?” he said.“‘Member how I said it was your pick, we could do whatever _you_ wanted?Ya gave it any thought yet?”

“Not really,” Sniper said.  “Well, that’s not exactly true.  I have sort of a general idea, I suppose.”

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“‘M not entirely sure, but I think I want it to be something…something different.Something that gets me out of me comfort zone by a bit.Not a lot, mind.Just a bit.”

“Aw, we don’t gotta do nuttin’ that makes ya _uncomfortable_ —“

“Not _un_ comfortable, just a bit…just a bit of a challenge.I want…to try.To do something a bit more than just orderin’ a pizza ’n’ watchin’ the tele.For you.Well, for both of us, I reckon, but…but wiv you there, there’s a lot more I can do than if I’m by meself.We might actually…get to do something a bit fun.I’ll try ’n’ think of something decent by the end of the day.”

“And hey, if you don’t come up with sum’n, I’m kinda likin’ that pizza and TV idea,” Scout told him, his sentence punctuated with a lopsided grin.

“Suppose we’ll just see what I come up wiv, yeah?Or _don’t_ come up wiv…”

Scout leaned over and gave Sniper a rather noisy smooch on the cheek.“Well, don’t be stressin’ out about it, awright?Not a big deal.”

Scout had left some saliva cooling on his cheek, but it was nice, in an odd sort of way.“Okay, love.I won’t.”

Scout tried to get him to stick around and have some breakfast in the base’s kitchen, but Sniper took a peek out the sliding glass door and spotted his owl, Hoots, perched on top of his camper.This early in the morning, the owl would be sitting there only if he’d had an unsuccessful night of hunting.Sniper would have to sit out a few mice to thaw for Hoots to eat.He pointed the owl out to Scout, who claimed he couldn’t see that far ( _he needs to get his eyes checked_ , Sniper thought), but said he believed Sniper anyway.He made Sniper promise to grab a little something to eat before they left for work, though.

Hm.Someone concerned about whether he’d eaten anything that day or not.His Mum used to worry about him skipping meals.Sniper almost hated to admit it, but it felt a bit nice for someone to care enough to worry over him.

He really would eat something.The extra fluff around his gut told him he could stand to skip a meal or two, but he’d keep his word and have a bite. 

Apparently Scout didn't mind him having extra fluff around his gut, anyhow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I tend to alternate the point of view between Scout and Sniper whenever I start a new chapter, but I'm thinking the next chapter might be in Sniper's POV, too...haha we'll see what I come up with.
> 
> Can I be lame for a second? Can I...can I recommend a song to listen to for this chapter? Diamond Heart by Lady Gaga thank you goodbye


	25. Chapter 25

The multiplex was densely packed with people waiting in line at the snack bar.Sniper would gladly forego candy and drinks and popcorn in exchange for being free of this crowd.

People kept touching him, touching him, touching him.He inched closer to Scout until his right boot was flush with Scout’s left sneaker, which protected his right side from strangers…but not his left side…or his back, or his front.He couldn’t understand it.Why were everybody so _close together_?Did they think that bunching up and squirming around would make them get their popcorn any faster?Why couldn’t everyone stay in their own personal space?What was so hard about that?And _who_ kept digging their elbow into his kidney?Was that necessary?The girl in front of him had hair down to her arse and every time she turned her head to talk to her friend, at least one strand of her hair flew into Sniper’s face and stuck to his lips. 

He wanted some fresh air.He wanted to look up at the sky.Kick some rocks, dig into the dirt with the tip of his boot, run his hand along the reassuringly rough surface of a tree trunk.Make a little camp fire, rummage through his camping whatnots until he found those repurposed wire hangers he’d bent into lovely little marshmallow-roasting sticks…

“Hey Snipes, check it out, we’re next up in line.Frickin’ finally.Whaddya wanna drink?Ya like lotsa buttah on ya popcorn, right?Ya want any candy?‘Cause I’m gettin’ candy.I wonder if they got any Astro Pops up there?Those’re gettin’ kinda hard to find—”

Ah.Sniper had managed to distract himself for a few moments, hadn’t he?Scout’s comforting babble had gently pulled him out of the clouds and back down to earth.

“Er, how abou’ a Coke for me?Lots o’ butter’s fine.And, er.Maybe a Zero Bar if they’ve got one.”

Scout did all the ordering for the both of them, but that was a given.Sniper was fairly decent at restaurant ordering now, but in a place like this, with all this noise and all these people, it was all he could do to keep himself together.If he had to try and choke out his order to this cashier, he’d unravel, he just knew it

“And would ya put a lotta buttah on that popcorn, pretty please?” Scout said to the girl behind the counter, smiling sweetly.

“Double butter is ten cents extra, is that okay?” the girl asked him.

“Aw, c’mon, you’re really gonna tell me this place charges a dime for extra buttah?That’s highway robbery!”It was clear to Sniper that Scout didn’t really care about the money, he was just shooting the shit with the girl behind the counter.Whether _she_ knew that or not wasn’t yet clear.“Y’know what, though, I’m feelin’ kinda crazy tonight.Howsabout ya put a whole quarter’s worth a buttah on there, hah?”

_How does he do it?_ Sniper wondered, watching as the counter girl laughed and Scout gave her an exaggerated wink.He was chatting with that woman like he’d known her half his life.How could Scout open his mouth and make those sorts of words come out?How could he laugh and make jokes?How could he _think_ that quickly? 

Sniper was still pondering all that when Scout eased a styrofoam cup and a candy bar into his hands. 

“Guess it’s your lucky night, Snipes,” Scout said, trying to balance a popcorn bucket, a soda, and an obscene amount of candy in his arms.“That’s the last Zero Bar they had.”

“Oh.  Good,” Sniper said, the corners of his lips twitching into an almost-smile.  No harm in appreciating the small things in life, yeah?  That was one thing he and Scout had in common, come to think of it. 

He stuck the candy bar in his breast pocket to free up one of his hands.“D’you want me to carry some o’ that before you drop it—“

“I got this,” Scout said proudly.“Uh, and I’m pretty sure theater three’s back over to the left, there.” 

Without any further preamble, Scout began to wade his way through the sea of people.Sniper followed close at the man’s heels, muttering apologies to the faceless crowd as he stumbled through them.

 

****

 

One thing was for certain: _The Exorcist_ was no creature-feature flick.There was no man in a sea monster suit swimming round and round a weedy river, no comical rubber masks, no sheilas screeching their lungs out just to have something to do.

When the little girl spider-crawled down the staircase and a spray of blood spurted from her mouth, Scout’s hand shot over and gripped Sniper’s forearm so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had five little fingerprint-sized bruises stamping his skin tomorrow.When the film calmed down a bit, Scout loosened his grip, but kept his hand firmly in place.

“Scary” didn’t seem like quite the right word to describe this film.“Spooky,” maybe?It was quite good.It had some really lovely character development, the pacing was spot-on, and the special effects makeup on the little girl was beyond impressive.Yet all around him, people were writhing in their seats and jumping and screaming and making all manner of a fuss, and several people actually got up and left the theater when the little girl’s head turned all the way round.It was a good film, but it was just that—a film.On a screen.It wasn’t real.

But Scout was obviously scared out of his mind.During the actual exorcism scene, the death grip returned around Sniper’s forearm.Scout’s other hand was clapped over his mouth and his eyes were round as dinner plates.

There were plenty of things that frightened Sniper to that degree, and he knew it was not a fun feeling.Scout always did everything he could to keep Sniper’s fears abated, so it went without saying that Sniper should return the favor.

He leaned over and put his lips close to Scout’s ear.“D’you wanna get outta here?”

Scout gave a shallow shake of his head, his large eyes glued helplessly to the screen.

“You sure?”

Scout nodded.

If the two of them were alone, Sniper would grab ahold of Scout’s hand and lace their fingers together, at the very least.But as it was, allowing Scout to squeeze the feeling from his arm was about as good as it was going to get.

The film ought to be over in fifteen minutes or so, anyhow.

 

****

 

Out in the theater lobby where the lighting was considerably brighter, Sniper noticed that Scout was still tight-lipped and wide-eyed, the effects of the film still residing within him.Sniper had hoped that when they stepped out of the dark theater and into the light, Scout would feel a bit better, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Still not doin’ too good, love?” Sniper muttered, just loud enough for Scout to hear him.

Scout answered that question with another question.“Did that not scare you?For real, you’re not scared right now?”

“It was scary, sure.But no, it didn’t bother me much, believe it or not.”

Their conversation took a brief pause as they walked out the theater door and into the pitch-dark parking lot.Apparently not giving a single shit who saw them, Scout clamped onto Sniper’s arm with both hands.

“I’m freakin’ out,” Scout said.“I can’t quit seein’ that girl’s face in my head, like—like the harder I try not to think about it, the more I’m thinkin’ about it.You’re _really_ not scared right now?For real, you’re not?”

“No,” Sniper said, hoping this rare bit of confidence on his part would help Scout feel better.“It’s only a film.’S not real, love.”He nearly followed that up by saying “nothing to be afraid of,” but he’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if he actually said that.Ringing telephones and chatty cashiers were nothing to be afraid of.Seeing a little girl vomit green goo and speak with the voice of a demon _was_ something the average person would consider frightening.

Sniper couldn’t help but wonder why it _didn't_ scare him, but he wouldn’t question it too much.

“You believe in demons, though, right?” Scout asked him.“I mean, you _do_ believe people can really get possessed, don’tcha?”

Right now was probably not a great time to get into a religious debate, so Sniper tried to pick his words carefully.“Yeah, I…well yeah, I do, but you can’t get possessed unless you do something to invite it in.Like the girl in the film, she was faffin’ about wiv a Ouija board.Something like that.”

The conversation paused again as they neared Scout’s Mustang.Scout yanked the keys from his pocket and thrusted them out toward Sniper.

“Will you drive?I don’t, uh, I dunno.I just don’t want to, man, I’m all—I’m still wigged out over here.I’d rather not drive right now.”

It would almost be humorous, if Sniper didn’t know how awful it felt to be afraid of something for no discernible reason.Scout, the bravest bloke he knew, getting so worked up over monster makeup and good acting?It should be the other way round, shouldn’t it? _He_ should be the one beside himself with fear, not Scout.But Sniper knew what Scout was feeling all too well, and it was not pleasant—especially when someone else was there to bear witness to it.Naturally, Sniper didn’t know what to do to help, except to try and offer his meager words of reassurance.He racked his brain, trying to think of a suitable thing to say, but he wasn’t coming up with anything.

Of course he wasn’t.

They got into the car and buckled up.Sniper had only driven this thing once, but he remembered the eight-cylinder motor packed a lot of power.When he stuck the key in the ignition and gave it a turn, the monstrous roar of the engine made Scout jump in his seat.

Sniper reached over and gave Scout’s shoulder a reassuring pat.He would’ve held the man’s hand for a minute, but Scout had them shoved under his thighs, essentially sitting on them.

“It’s just too fresh on your mind, is what it is,” Sniper told him, hoping his voice was calming enough.  His slid his hand over to rest between Scout’s shoulder blades, his thumb tracing soothing lines onto the nape of Scout’s neck.  “I know exactly what you’re doing.  You’re replayin’ parts o’ that film over ’n’ over in your mind right now.  You’re…you’re thinkin’ it won’t ever stop, ’n’ the more you try ’n’ _make_ it stop, you just think abou’ it that much harder.”

“Yeah,” Scout muttered.“Exactly.”

“It’ll be better once you can get your mind off it,” Sniper said.He turned around in his seat to look out the back window.He waited for a group of girls to clear out of the road, then backed the car out of the parking space.“A distraction, like.”

“When we get back home, I’m gonna—uh.I know it’s kinda late, but do ya think I could hang out in the camper for awhile?”

“It’s not that late, it’s only nine-thirty.”

“But don’tcha go to bed kinda early during the week?”  


They were out on the main road now, the road that would eventually fork off into a bumpy dirt path and lead them back to the base.“I do, actually, but I never fall asleep right off.Won’t matter if I get in the bed or not.I don’t ever fall asleep before one in the morning or so, anyhow.”

“‘Cause I was thinkin’ I’d watch some TV for awhile and try to get all that—all that stuff outta my head.I know if I go straight to bed, I’ll have night terrors for sure.You can, like, get _in_ your bed if ya wanna, and I can sit on the couch by myself, I just…I don’t wanna be in a room alone.”Scout scoffed, like that was the most ridiculous thing that had ever come out of his own mouth.

“I usually watch a bit of tele before I go to bed, anyhow,” Sniper said, which was mostly a true statement.He usually watched a half-hour’s worth of television and then took a book up to his bunk to read, but he could forego the reading for tonight.“We’ll watch it when we get back.”

“Awright, yeah.”

For a few moments, the only sounds in the car were that of the road hissing under the tires and the murmur of the radio.  Scout was the one to break the silence.

“Hey, I know _I’m_ the one that made the huge deal about goin’ to see _The Exorcist,_ since everybody was sayin’ how great it was, or whatever.And then I drag ya to go see it, and it scares the hell outta me.After me tellin’ ya we could do whatever _you_ wanted to do tonight, too.I don’t ever think shit like this through, Snipes, I’m sorry.I tell ya tonight’s _your_ night and what do I go and do?Make ya go see the movie _I_ wanted to see, and I didn’t even like it.Classic Scout, right?”

The fear was slowly but surely ebbing away into self-loathing.Sniper knew the cycles of fearfulness all too well, knew the itching hatred Scout was feeling for himself in that moment. 

“If I remember correctly, it was actually Pyro’s idea for us to go to the movie theater, weren’t it?” Sniper asked him.

“I guess _technically_ it was, but I—I pushed ya into it.”

“I promise you didn’t.I’d wanted to think of something that’d push me a bit outta me comfort zone, ’n’ for whatever reason, the movie theater hadn’t crossed me mind.I was bein’ honest when I said I thought it was a good idea.”

“Still shoulda let _you_ pick the movie, though, at least,” Scout grumbled.

“I didn’t care what movie we went to see.I only wanted to take you someplace, you know—someplace that wasn’t me camper.I’d’ve let you pick which film you wanted to see, anyhow.And if it makes you feel better, I…actually, I quite liked _The Exorcist_.Started out slow in the beginning, but they really packed a lot o’ stuff into that last half-hour.”

“For real?I mean, it obviously didn’t scare ya, but it didn’t, like…gross ya out or nuttin’?”  


“Certain… _bits_ of it weren’t so appetizing, I’ll go ahead ’n’ say.But on the whole, yeah, I liked it.I’d see it again.”

“ _Hell_ no.After tonight, I think I’m stickin’ to Disney movies for awhile.”

“I actually like Disney movies, as well.”

“Aw, me too, man.I don’t care if they’re for kids, or whatever, they’re still good.”

“Figured you’d like ‘em, since you like to draw so much.”

“Yeah, I love those big eyes they draw on everybody.And like, the way they make the animals move?Makes ya kinda forget they’re animals, it’s so good.”

“First movie I ever sawr in the theater was _Cinderella_.”

“I didn’t see that in the theater, but it was on the TV one night, and me and my brothers all sat and watched it.”

“There was a Disney film on at the theater tonight, did you see that?”

“Huh-uh, what’s it called?”

“ _Robin Hood_.Judging by the movie poster, they made Robin Hood into a little red fox.”

“Hey, that sounds really adorable and demon-free.We shoulda gone to see that instead, heh.”

“We can always go back, you know.”

From the corner of his eye, Sniper could barely make out the murky shadow of Scout’s head turning in his direction.“Hey, yeah.We could do that.Y’know what?”

“What?”

“You’re gettin’ better at small-talk, have ya noticed that?”

Sniper hummed in thought.“Haven’t really thought abou’ it, but now that you mention it…hm.Suppose you’re right.”

“And all this talkin’s helpin’ me not think about, uh, things.So even if ya don’t got nuttin’ to say, just say anything, that way I don’t start thinkin’ about demons and little girls’ heads spinnin’ around and ah, jeez, I’m thinkin’ about it again.”

Sniper risked taking a hand off the wheel to give Scout another reassuring pat, this time on the leg.“Er, well—well, we’re nearly home, so there’s that.We’ll watch the tele all you want, that oughter help.Soon as we put your car in the garage, we’ll—“

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that!” Scout wailed.“I ain’t walkin’ all the way across the yard in the frickin’ dark!”

Sniper made a humming noise in his throat again, trying to come up with a solution.“We could watch the tele in the rec room, then.You wouldn’t have to walk in the dark that way.”

“Well for one, that ain’t fair to you, to hafta sit in that musty-ass rec room and babysit me.Another thing, the TV in your camper is _way_ nicer than the one in the rec room—gets more channels, too.Oh, and a third thing, I’m like seventy-five percent sure there’s a Ouija board in there and I’m _not_ about to go near that thing.”

Sniper directed the car off the pavement and onto the dirt road that would lead them home.“Hm.Suppose there’s only one solution.”

“We park my car right outside your camper?”

“…Oh.That’s not what I was thinking, but that’s a good idea.”

“What’d _you_ have in mind?”

“I was just gonna suggest you hold onto your protective talisman while we walk in the dark.Keep you safe.”

“Uh, what _talisman_ are ya talkin’ about, Snipes?”

“That shark tooth I gave you, o’ course.”

There was a flicker of movement in the corner of Sniper’s eye, probably Scout reaching up to fumble with the item in question.“Oh, this is a _protective talisman_ , huh?”

“It is.”

“So what do I do to make the magic happen, like do I just hold it, or do I click my heels together three times, what am I workin’ with, here?”

There was little chance Scout saw it in the dark, but Sniper was grinning.Had he not been driving, he probably would’ve been rolling his eyes, as well.“Just hold it.Feel the positive energy comin’ off it.”

“And that’ll keep the demons away from me?”

“I reckon it’ll keep you safe from all malevolent entities.”

“ _Malevolent entities_ —hey, now.This thing’s fancy.”

“ _Very_ fancy.”

Their meaningful conversation was cut short as the car reached the base’s gated entrance.Sniper eased the car to a stop alongside a free-standing payphone booth.He cranked the window down, inserted a nickel into the coin slot, and punched a ten-digit code into the number pad.He put the phone to his ear.

“PASSWORD, PLEASE,” a garbled voice croaked on the other end of the line—wherever that was.

Sniper always hated saying the password aloud.He hated talking on the telephone in general, but it irked him to utter this asinine phrase with his own mouth. 

“Buttery banana bread,” he grumbled into the receiver.

“AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL DETECTED.DISENGAGING MAIN GATE LOCKING SYSTEM.PLEASE STAND BY.”

Such a dramatic display for something so simple as a fence, Sniper thought as the gate trundled open and bade them entrance.An electrified fence topped with razor wire would be sufficient, one would think.And what would happen if a bloke didn’t have a nickel on him to dial the number, eh?He’d just be stuck out there till someone else came by?

Sniper put the phone back on the hook and drove the car through the gate, parking it just outside his Winnebago.He killed the engine and turned out the headlights, plunging the two of them into darkness.

“You need one a them lights that come on when ya walk near it, know what I’m talkin’ about?Or a string a party lights, at least.Y’know the kind that looks like a buncha chili peppers?Ya need those all around your camper.”

Sniper opened his car door and stepped out.Scout followed suit, darting over to stand at Sniper’s side before Sniper even had a chance to blink. 

“The door’s locked, I’m assumin’?”

“Yeah.Key’s in me pocket.”

“Well, uh, I definitely just heard a noise comin’ from over there”—Scout pointed in a random direction over his shoulder—“so, uh, maybe we oughta get our asses inside.”

“I’m goin’, gremlin, I’m goin’.”

Sniper put a hand at the small of Scout’s back and guided him the few steps it took to make it to the camper’s side entrance.As he dug around his pocket for his keys, he said, “but you’ve got nothin’ to worry abou’, remember, you’ve got your protective talisman.”

Scout reached up and closed his fist around the shark tooth pendant hanging from his neck.“Oh yeah, I forgot about that, you’re totally right.Take your time, Snipes, I’m good.”

Still, Sniper unlocked the door as quickly as he could.As soon as the door was open, Scout bolted inside to safety, popping every light on as he went.

“Feels so good to be in here,” Scout sighed, going over to fiddle with the TV.While Sniper pulled the chain lock across the camper door and twisted the deadbolt for good measure, he heard the familiar burble of the _I Love Lucy_ theme song.

“Now here’s some nice, calmin’, no-demon entertainment,” Scout said, flopping down on the couch.Sniper took his jacket off and tossed it into his recliner (he’d hang it up later), pulled his boots off, and joined Scout on the couch.Scout still had his shoes on and was undoubtedly getting dirt all over his nice clean couch cushions, but he’d worry about that later.For now, he lay on his back on the couch, using the armrest as a makeshift pillow.Scout was quick to burrow and squirm his way into Sniper’s arms, resting his head atop Sniper’s chest and tangling their legs together. 

It was much the same way they’d lain together when they’d gone on their Area 51 trip.

Which gave Sniper an idea.

“Stay the night here,” he half-whispered into Scout’s hair.

Scout didn't respond right away.He seemed to ponder Sniper’s suggestion, tugging absently at one of the buttons on Sniper’s shirt.

“Y’know what?Screw it, I’m stayin’ here tonight.We both got work tomorrow, and I know I’m gonna have night terrors if I sleep alone.”

“That’s what I was afraid of, that you’d have bad dreams if you slept on your own.”

“You just want somebody you can put your cold-ass feet up against in the middle of the night to warm ‘em up.”

“That’s part of the bargain, yeah.”

Even though they’d just now turned the tele on, it wasn’t all that hard to get up to speed on the events of the program.Lucy had made Another Grave Mistake and she had to try and fix it before Ricky found out.More of the same, of course.But that was the point of it, Sniper thought; comfort in familiarity.

“This is my Ma’s favorite show in the world,” Scout muttered sleepily.

“Is it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I like it a bit, too.You haven’t gotta strain your brain too hard to keep up wiv it.”

“And no demons.”

Sniper had to chuckle at that one.  He hoped Scout wasn’t sore at him for laughing. 

“And no demons,” he agreed.

He hooked one hand across Scout’s hip and let his other arm drape off the couch, knuckles brushing the shag carpet.He could fall asleep so easily right now.And there’d be no harm in it, either.The alarm was already set, so he needn’t worry about that.He searched his brain for something else he should be worried about, but he thought of nothing.

_…Nothing?_

Already, Scout’s breathing was growing slower and deeper.Wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep—with his shoes still on and everything.

_Cute little bugger_ , Sniper thought, taking in the scent of Scout’s hair.Even something so simple as that served to put him more at ease.

Maybe he really didn’t have anything to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do a lil bit of research for this chapter, and did yall know that The Exorcist and the Disney Robin Hood movie came out in the same year? That doesn't sound right to me, for some reason, but it's true.
> 
> Tried to get this done by Halloween, but I didn't quite make it...as per the usual, I kept scrapping entire pages of writing and doing it over again. But at least I got it done within a week of the last chapter!


	26. Chapter 26

The smell of newsprint repulsed Spy for many reasons, reasons he’d rather not think about so early in the morning.Or at all.It didn’t faze him as much as it used to, however.He’d grown relatively used to the smell, since his job required him to peruse a multitude of them for any pertinent information. 

Each morning, one of his informants met him at the base’s front gate with a stack of papers from all the surrounding towns—Teufort, of course; Threepoint; Foreview; Five Lakes; Syxton.He didn’t really read them, he merely skimmed them for anything important.Mainly, he was checking to see if any of his aliases or the names of the… _gentlemen_ he worked with were mentioned.If there was anything Spy had learned from years of espionage, it was that one could never be too careful.

He retired into his smoking room with the newspapers, placed them on the coffee table, and sunk down into his favorite armchair.This would be his last moment of peace before a day of shooting and stabbing began in earnest, and he fully intended to enjoy it. 

From an inner jacket pocket, he pulled out a leather cigarette case. _YVES SAINT LAURENT PARIS_ was embossed on the front in gold leaf.Using a little pinch-and-twist motion he’d long since committed to muscle memory, he popped it open with one hand.Taking up half the space within was an array of buttons and dials and wires that made up his disguise kit, but he wasn’t interested in that part at the moment.He plucked a lavender-colored cigarette from the other half of the case, then shut the case and slipped it back into his pocket.

Much like opening the case, bringing the gold-papered filter to his lips and igniting the tip of the cigarette was second nature to Spy.He took a deep inhale of the smoke, savoring the heat in his lungs and the sweet taste on the exhale.The first cigarette of the day was usually the best, after all.He took a few more drags of it before he picked a newspaper from the top of the pile and shook it open.

What he saw on the front cover of the Threepoint Gazette nearly made him drop his cigarette in shock.

Spy knew it would be best not to waste any time.He stuck the cigarette between his lips and read the rest of the article while walking toward the garage. 

He’d need to make a little field trip before the workday officially began.

 

****

 

Miss Pauling was looking lovely as always.Tired, but lovely.

“Good morning, Spy,” she said, sounding mildly surprised.“You know, when you drop in unannounced like this, it’s usually because you either have something extremely good to tell me, or something extremely bad to tell me.”Her glasses were beginning to slip down her nose.She pushed them back up with an index finger.“Uh, which one is it?”

“I am afraid it is the latter,” Spy said, handing her the copy of the Threepoint Gazette.She took the proffered paper, brows furrowed.

“What is…” she said, unfolding the newspaper.Her voice trailed away to nothing as her eyes lighted upon the front page headline.

POLICE FIND MAN BURIED IN SHALLOW GRAVE IN THREEPOINT CEMETERY

“How… _how?_ ” she said, gesturing wildly toward the paper.“The quicklime should’ve turned him to gravy in forty-five minutes!How was there enough of a body left to dig up?!”

“I am not sure,” Spy said.He was itching for a cigarette, but Miss Pauling strongly preferred if he didn’t smoke in her office.He would wait. 

“Allow me to spare you the trouble of reading the entire article,” Spy continued.“The local authorities have managed to identify the corpse.They have also found out where he was working just before his death.While that is indeed important…you should know that, upon exhumation, there were trace amounts of table salt found on the body’s clothing and far more than the lethal amount of sodium in his bloodstream.”

“ _Table salt!”_ Miss Pauling wailed.“That—that doesn’t make any sense, I _know_ I grabbed a bag of quicklime from the warehouse!Why would there even _be_ a gigantic bag of table salt in there?!”

“I believe someone is attempting to sabotage you, mon cher,” Spy said, a touch of sadness in his voice.He liked Miss Pauling.Everyone did, really.It would be a shame if something happened to her.

Miss Pauling puffed out her cheeks and put her palm up to her forehead.“Okay.I’ll deal with _that_ part of it later.The Administrator hasn’t found out about this yet, or she’d be wringing my neck right about now.”She jabbed at the newspaper with her finger.“I need this to go away.Quickly.”

“The article claims that authorities have not yet been able to locate any of his next-of-kin, so the body has yet to be claimed.That would lead me to believe it is still in the local morgue.”

“Can you take care of that for me?”

Spy pulled up his sleeve and checked his watch.“I believe I have time to dispose of it before my workday at Landfall begins, yes.However…”

Miss Pauling winced at the word.“However?”

“I will not have time to… _coerce_ the local news outlets to drop the story.I am sure it will be the highlight of the tri-county area for at least a week.You know how small towns are.It will only be made worse once the body turns up missing.”

“I’ll deal with the news people, you focus on the body.I don’t think I can stop them from reporting on it _tonight_ , but…maybe the Administrator won’t see it.”

“Let us hope she does not,” Spy said, giving her a curt nod.“Now, if you will excuse me.I must be going, if I am to break into a morgue, steal a corpse, and dispose of it within”—he checked his watch again—“forty-eight minutes.”

Miss Pauling’s entire body sagged in relief.“You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Spy.Really.”

Spy stood up and made his way for the door.“You realize this means you owe me a favor now, yes?” Spy said over his shoulder, smirking.

“Well, yeah.Everybody knows guys like you don’t do anything out of the goodness of their hearts, right?”

A low chuckle slipped from Spy’s lips as he opened the door. 

“Of course not.”

 

****

 

Stretching his arms high above his head, Scout stood in front of his car for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should go ahead and move it into the garage.He decided he didn’t really feel like it.He’d gotten a good night’s rest, but that still didn’t change the fact that he’d fallen asleep with all his clothes on, shoes included; he was itching to get back to his room and change into something not quite so wrinkled and damp with night sweat.Anyway, the car wasn’t hurting anything just sitting there, was it?He’d move it after work, no big deal.

When Scout entered the base through the kitchen’s sliding glass door, he was genuinely surprised that there was no one in there yet.Even if nobody else was up and around, Doc was usually looming in the corner, sipping on some coffee.Scout had been bracing himself for the barrage of questions that would undoubtedly come from the nosy bunch—he could just _hear_ Demo asking him, “why’s ye car parked o’er at the Sniper’s house, Lad?Did the two o’ ye have a shag last night?”—and to be honest, he was just the tiniest bit disappointed that there was no one there to hassle him about it. 

He would’ve denied it all, of course. _Nah, man, we were just hangin’ out over there and I fell asleep_ , he’d say.Which wasn’t a lie, he had very much fallen asleep over there.He’d just leave the part out about falling asleep in Sniper’s arms, is all.And though it was true that they didn’t “shag”, either, he wouldn’t explicitly deny it.Hell, let ‘em wonder.Made life more interesting.

When did he start thinking that way?Just a few months ago, he was paranoid out of his mind that one of the guys would find out he liked to draw and read comics—those were sissy’s hobbies and he didn’t want to be made fun of for it.And now he was downright disappointed that there was nobody here to give him a hard time about staying over at Sniper’s?What the hell?

But then it hit him.

_Maybe I kinda_ want _‘em to find out about me and Snipes,_ he thought as he left the kitchen and walked into the hallway.

Sure, they’d poke fun at him ( _them_ ) for all the rest of eternity, but wouldn’t it be sorta nice if they didn’t have to hide it anymore?At least, not around the base?They could, like.Hold hands and shit.That’d be nice.

Scout was about to turn to the right, to head to his bedroom, but he happened to look down the opposite end of the hallway.The rec room door was wide open and he could hear the TV blaring from within.That alone wouldn’t be that big a deal, but he heard the unmistakable voices of Solly and Doc coming from in there, too. 

“…not really all that surprised…”

The snippet of conversation he’d just heard had been in Demo’s voice.At least three of the guys were in there, then.What were they all doing in there so early in the morning?Some kind of team meeting he didn’t know about, maybe?If it was something private, Scout reasoned, they would’ve shut the door.He decided to head down there and see what was going on.

When he walked through the rec room doorway, Solly and Demo were sprawled out on the couch in front of the TV and Medic was standing up beside them.All three mercenaries had their eyes glued to the TV set, watching something Scout couldn’t quite make out from that distance. 

“Whatcha watchin’?” Scout asked no one in particular, making his way closer to the TV.“Some kinda—“

Medic raised a finger to his lips in a “shh” gesture.Scout stopped talking.

“Listen,” Medic said.

“—police are confirming that the body _has_ been identified as Bucky McAllister, a Boston, Massachusetts native employed at a local restaurant in downtown Threepoint.His body was found in a shallow grave in the Threepoint Cemetery at around three a.m. this morning.Authorities say they suspect foul play, but when asked to elaborate on the issue, police chief Dan O’Hare declined to comment.An unauthorized source allegesthat…”

At that point, Scout stopped listening to the news anchor’s words.Bucky’s mugshot was onscreen for a few moments, then gave way to footage of the cemetery where his body must’ve been found.

Wait.Wait a minute.Bucky was…he…he was…

…dead?

Scout hated Bucky’s guts

(don’t speak ill of the dead _oh God he’s dead_ )

but he never wanted Bucky to _die_.He didn’t know how he should feel about this.He wasn’t feeling much of anything right now except for a numb sense of shock.Nothing made sense. 

“Tha’ _is_ Looker,” Demo said, scratching at the rough stubble on his chin. 

“But what in the world would he be doing working at a restaurant in Threepoint?” Medic wondered.His eyes swiveled over to Scout.“You and Miss Pauling went on a mission to a restaurant in Threepoint just the other day, did you not?”

Scout tried to answer, but all that came out of his mouth was some kind of gurgling noise.He swallowed, then tried again.

“I…I mean, we…yeah, we did, but I…but she never…I didn’t _see_ him there, but…he, he coulda been in the back, or…o-or sum’n, I guess…”

“Miss Pauling probably killed him, then!” Soldier said happily.“Or Scout might’ve killed him.Did _you_ do the honors, Scout?”

Scout ran a shaky hand through his hair.“No, I…no.No.” 

“And the news lass jes’ said Looker was from Boston, aye?”

“She did, I heard it,” Soldier nodded.

Demo took his one good eye away from the TV and looked at Scout with it.“I know ye never worked with Looker, since ye were in sick bay the whole time, but ye’re takin’ this news a might hard, lad.Did ye know him?”

Scout didn’t know how to answer that.He didn’t want to worry everybody here with some kind of vague, mumbled answer, because they might start thinking it was a family member of his, or something like that.He couldn’t really figure out why this was putting him in such a state of disbelief.All he knew was, Demo was waiting on an answer from him and he needed to give one.

“Yeah, I knew him,” Scout said, forcing himself to sound neutral about the whole thing.“We, uh, we were on the same baseball team in high school.”

He really shouldn’t have mentioned the baseball thing, but it came out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about it.His mind’s eye conjured images of Bucky smiling down at him, Bucky pulling him into a rough embrace after they won a game, Bucky streaked with sweat after practice, wiping his brow with a dirty hand. 

_Hey, by the way—thanks a million for helpin’ me work on my curveball, Kenicky.With you on first base and me pitchin’, me and you are gonna be a force a nature!_

Scout felt a hand rest atop his shoulder, ripping him from his memories.He looked up.Medic’s face was stony as his firm hand guided Scout out of the room.

“Come, liebchen.Why don’t we speak of this in my office for a moment?I believe it will be beneficial to you.”

“I gotta go get ready for work, Doc,” Scout said weakly, but he didn’t resist as Medic steered him toward the medbay.

“I know.We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready to.I only want to give you a quick checkup.It will only take a minute or two.You can spare a minute or two, can’t you?”

Medic’s hand left his shoulder as the doctor dug around in pants pocket.From it, he pulled out a jingling keyring.He flipped through the keys until he found the one he needed, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger. 

The key to the medbay, Scout assumed.He stared at it for a couple seconds.Quick checkup?Doubtful.Doc had a morbid curiosity about death and whatnot.Probably just wanted to ask Scout some prying questions to try and figure out who did Bucky in.

Scout had the vague impression that Miss Pauling killed Bucky after all, like Solly said, but he didn’t feel like putting the puzzle pieces together right now.He didn’t wanna think about it.He still had to go to work about an hour and a half from now, so he needed to at least _try_ and keep it together.

“I mean, I…yeah, I guess if it’s just a minute, but…” Scout said, trailing off.They were at the medbay door now.Medic unlocked it and entered the room, turning the light on as he went.

“Go ahead and close that door behind you, if you please,” Medic said.Scout closed it.Medic crossed the room to stand in front of his examination table, patting it with his hand. 

“Come.Sit.”

Maybe Doc really was going to give him a checkup?But what the hell for?Whatever, Scout was already in here.He’d give the crazy dude exactly two minutes to poke and prod on him, then he’d skedaddle.He wanted to change his clothes and comb his hair and brush his teeth.He wanted to hurry back to Sniper’s Winnebago.He could really use a good hug right about now.

Scout went over to the table and hopped up on it.Medic’s hand hovered above his thigh, right above the place where one of his femoral screws were located.  


“May I?” Medic asked. 

Scout assumed he meant he wanted to touch it.Fine.“Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

_I guess._

Medic prodded the lump of scar tissue with his index and middle fingers, then did the same with the lump just above Scout’s knee.“Seems to have healed quite nicely.How does it feel when you run?On a scale from one to ten, how severe is your pain?”

“Well, _while_ I’m runnin’, I guess I’d put it at like…a three, maybe a four?It ain’t too bad.”

Medic nodded thoughtfully.“And after you’ve stopped running for awhile, say, after a day of working, how severe is your pain?”

“It’s pretty, uh…not good.I’d say maybe an eight, actually.”He could easily elaborate on that, but he didn’t really feel up to it.The pain varied in both sensation and intensity depending on how hard and how often he used his leg, but there was nothing to be done about it.

“About what I expected,” Medic said with another nod.“I have a few suggestions on how you might reduce your pain without the use of narcotics, but we’ll talk about that later.Your femoral rod is not the reason I pulled you from the rec room.”

“Yeah, I know,” Scout muttered, trying not to think about _him_.On the night Bucky kissed him, Bucky’s mouth had tasted like grape soda.Scout could remember the taste so clearly.It was almost enough to make him forget about 

( _“BECAUSE YOU RUINED ME!”_ )

some of the less-than-good memories he had of Bucky.

“I could tell by the look on your face that this, eh, this Looker fellow—my apologies, what was his real name, again?”

“Bucky,” Scout said, hating the way Bucky’s name sounded when it rolled off his tongue.He hated that he felt this way about Bucky dying.He hated that he—he—could he have done something to stop it?To stop _her_ from killing him?And did she even do it, or was it someone else?There was just so much he didn’t know, and—

Medic handed him a Kleenex.Scout wondered what for, until he brought a hand up to his face.It was damp with tears.

“He was your friend, I take it,” Medic said, his voice low and sympathetic.

Scout nodded, swiping the wetness from his cheeks with the tissue.“Yeah, ya heard me say how we used to be on the same baseball team, didn’tcha?”

“Yes.”

“But when he came here, though, like—like he changed _so much_ , it was like he was a totally different person.He used to be a nice guy, I swear, Doc, he wasn’t all”—Scout made a wild gesture with his hands—“I dunno.He just let himself go, real bad.”

“Methamphetamine will do that to a person.”

“He blamed it all on me, though.He like…”Scout lowered his voice, even though he knew full-well that all the rooms in the base were soundproofed.“He like, he kissed me one night, y’know?And after that, he wouldn’t talk to me and—well, it’s a real long story.But one day when he was still here, when I was still in the hospital, he busted into the room I was in.I dunno how he knew I was in there, but—but he just started screamin’ and tellin’ me how _I_ was the one who ruined his life.How it was _my_ fault he—well, he had a whole list a shit he was blamin’ me for.”

God, Scout hated when he cried.Especially in front of other people.It made him feel weak, useless.Gross.He blotted his face with the Kleenex again and sniffed, disgusted in himself for doing it.

“People change, liebchen.Sometimes they don’t change for the better.Sometimes they…like to blame others for their problems, so it’s easier to get up and look at their reflection in the mirror every day.If you get my meaning.”

Scout thought he got the gist of what Medic was trying to say.Instead of Bucky coming to terms with himself, he’d blamed it all on Scout.He’d blamed his self-destruction on Scout, too, to make his own conscience the tiniest bit clearer.

And when he finally got to see Scout again, all that bitterness had come forward in a tidal wave.He’d left RED in a huff, almost certainly without going through the pains to properly terminate his contract.It was pretty self-explanatory why the Administrator would want Bucky dead.And who better than her right-hand lady to do her dirty work for her?

And who better than Scout the Pushover to _help_ her right-hand lady?He’d gone to that restaurant to be a part of Miss P’s disguise.He was an accomplice.He had a hand in Bucky’s murder.There was blood on his hands, too.

“Miss P killed him, didn’t she?” Scout said, trying not to bawl like some snotnosed little kid, but finding that harder and harder to do.

“More than likely, yes,” Medic said. 

“And that date we went on was probably to find the best way to get in that restaurant and kill him, it had to be.”

“Scout—“

“I didn’t mean it, Doc, I swear,” Scout said.God, his voice sounded so pathetic right now.He needed to shut his yap and quit talking about all this, but he couldn’t help himself.“I didn’t mean to help her kill him, I know I used to love him and then he turned into a dickhead and he blamed me for all his problems but all that ain’t enough for me to wanna _kill_ him!”

“ _Scout—_ “

“We kill people every day, I know that, but we don’t kill ‘em for _real_ , like they come _back_ , y’know, they don’t _stay_ dead!Goddammit, this is my fault, too, I coulda—I coulda stopped her, I shoulda done sum’n, I—why am I—?I’m a frickin’ _mercenary_ , for chrissakes, like—!This was bound to happen eventually, wasn’t it?Me killin’ somebody who don’t pop outta that, that-that-that _glass_ _thing_ after five minutes?This is what I really signed up for, ain’t it?This—this is—this—“

Medic’s hands gripped against Scout’s upper arms.“Scout.”

Somehow, that was enough to shut Scout up.He looked at Medic through soggy eyelashes.

“This is why I brought you in here.You need to get as much of this out of your system as you can before we go out on the field today.If your work performance suffers because of this…it might draw attention to you.The Administrator might think it’s because of your femur, and—“

“And I’m the next one in line to get whacked, huh?” Scout laughed.It was official.He was losing it.

“No one is going to kill you,” Medic told him firmly.“But you need to attract as little attention as possible to avoid an official reprimand.That isn’t something you want to deal with, believe me.”

After the sadness and the tears and the hysterics and the fear and even the bark of laughter, Scout was emotionally exhausted.He nodded, feeling very tired and defeated.

Medic took his hands away from Scout’s arms.“I’m not very good at, eh, _emotional_ things.I’m not a psychiatrist, after all.But I may be able to offer some consolation, if you would, eh…like to talk about anything else?”

Scout shook his head.The tears had stopped coming, he noticed.Good.“I’m just…y’know.I’m actually kinda glad I didn’t find this out with…with Sniper around me.He worries too much, anyway, he don’t need one more thing to worry about.”

“You _should_ mention it to him, though,” Medic said.“About Looker’s…passing.It’s bound to be in this morning’s paper or on tonight’s news.He’ll wonder why you didn’t tell him about it yourself, if you don’t.I assume he knows that you and Looker…used to be partners?”

“Me ’n’ Bucky weren’t ever together, really,” Scout said.“We were just best friends.I always liked him like that, and _he_ liked _me_ like that, but we…he kissed me one night after a ballgame.In his truck, where nobody could see us.And then the next day, he told me he got some girl pregnant and he never talked to me again.So.”Scout shrugged.

“As I said, I’m no psychiatrist.But I know this is a hard thing for you to deal with, for a multitude of reasons, of course.I’m sure you have many things, mentally, to work through.Actually, talking about this with Herr Sniper would probably be more beneficial to you than anything, although I’d recommend doing that _after_ the workday is over, rather than before.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna get into this again until after work,” Scout agreed.“I don’t wanna get the waterworks started again, for real.”

Medic gave him a smile that was slightly less unsettling than usual.In fact, it was almost comforting.“All right, you are free to go now.We’ll talk about your leg another time.”

After muttering his halfhearted thanks to Medic, Scout left the medbay and went to his room.He tried not to think about Bucky as he changed into a fresh set of work clothes, but it was like Sniper said last night:the harder you try not to think about something, the more you actually think about it.

It wasn’t like Scout had ever wanted to _see_ Bucky again.As a matter of fact, Scout had been relieved when Bucky quit RED and left the base with no warning.To say Bucky had changed would be a polite understatement; Scout wasn’t sure if there was any of the old Bucky left inside the man who’d barged into his hospital room all those months ago, screeching and raging.

…But what if there was?What if Scout could’ve helped him?Was it wrong of him _not_ to try and help his old friend?Nearly seven years ago, Scout had been no stranger to addiction.Had it not been for Miss Pauling, he’d most likely be dead by now.What if all Bucky had needed was for somebody to care enough to try and help him?What if Scout was the only person who knew what Bucky was going through, the only person who could’ve—?

But it didn’t matter now.Bucky was dead and it was all his fault, wasn’t it?The fact that Bucky was asked to join RED was just too weird to be a coincidence—it had been totally intentional on the Administrator’s part, it just had to be.Was this some sort of test she’d put Scout through?Had she planned to kill Bucky from the beginning?Was she waiting to see if Scout would retaliate?

Was this whole thing a plot to test Scout’s loyalty?

Scout looked himself over in the mirror tacked to the back of his bedroom door and it was very obvious he’d been crying.His face was all puffed up and blotchy and it made him remember how his brothers used to tease him for busting out bawling over every little thing.He was always such a crybaby.Apparently, he still was.

Lying atop Scout’s dresser was this weird pair of scissors that was blunt-tipped and bent at the end, which he used to cut the grip tape off his hands.He picked them up, snipped the old stuff off, and put some fresh tape on.That made him feel a little better.Not a lot, but a little.

He wanted to go back over to Sniper’s camper, but he didn’t know if he should.Medic had been cool enough to let Scout explode all over him and cry a little, which would probably help him keep it together long enough to go to work and do what he had to do there.If he went back over to Sniper’s, Sniper would know right away that something was off.And then Scout would have to try and figure out a way to explain everything in a way that made sense, and then Sniper would start worrying, and blah, blah, blah.It would be easier if he tried to explain it to Sniper after work, instead of before—like Doc had suggested.

Scout knocked on the jack-and-jill bathroom door to make sure Pyro wasn’t in there (he wasn’t), then stood in front of the mirror, trying to do something with his hair.It looked so, so bad.He could just imagine if Ma saw it.He looked like frickin’…frickin’ Andy Warhol, or some shit.No amount of combing or pomade made it look any better, either.He made a mental note to call and make himself a hair appointment on his lunch hour.

Hair.Thinking about hair was good.That meant he wasn’t thinking about Bucky, or the millions of other unanswered questions that arose when he thought about Bucky’s death.How long had it been since Sniper had a haircut, he wondered?Scout could not imagine Sniper picking up the phone and calling a hair salon to make an appointment, and he _absolutely_ could not imagine Sniper sauntering into a salon for a walk-in.Maybe that’s why Sniper was never without a hat—maybe he cut his own hair.That seemed like a thing Sniper would do.

_And I’m not thinkin’ about Bucky_ , Scout thought, running the comb through his hair for the umpteenth time. _Nope, nope.I’ll think about it later, I’ll think about it after work, and I’m definitely not thinkin’ about it right now.I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin’…did Snipes ever read all them comics I lent him?There’s like a big hole in my closet where they usually go and every time I see that empty spot I try to remember to ask him but I keep forgettin’ about it but then again it really don’t matter I guess ‘cause I know he’s takin’ good care of ‘em but still I wonder if he’s all caught up on the Captain Americas ‘cause he should read the new one that just came out if he is and—_

Maybe it was easier to distract himself than he thought.He needed to keep this going, or else he might think too hard about _certain things_ and that wouldn’t be good, not good at all.He just needed to keep it together until after work.Then he could find Sniper and tell him what had happened to

( _oh my God Bucky’s dead he’s really dead this doesn’t feel real I just don’t understand it’s all my fault ain’t it)_

Bucky, see what Sniper thought about the whole situation.But for now, he needed to be Scout.Good ol’ Scout.Happy, annoying, loud, smiling Scout.

He knocked at the door leading from the bathroom into Pyro’s bedroom.

“Hey, Py!You up yet?"

Not two seconds later, Pyro threw the door open, beaming down at Scout with a maskless face.Scout was crushed into a hug before he realized what was happening.He returned the gesture, albeit not quite so forcefully.As always, Pyro smelled like warm dryer sheets and something slightly burnt.

“How was the movie?” Pyro asked once he’d pried himself off of Scout.

“Aw, man, lemme tell ya,” Scout said, sauntering into Pyro’s room.He flopped down on the bed, sending several stuffed animals tumbling to the floor.“That movie scared the bejeezus outta me.”

“You should’ve went to go see _Robin Hood_ instead of that scary girl.”

“Hey, me and Snipes talked about that, actually.We kinda wanted to see it.”

Pyro sat at the edge of the bed, causing more stuffed animals to fall to their demise.“Um.I know it’s not nice to invite yourself to something, but…if you and Sniper _do_ go and see _Robin Hood_ , do you think…maybe I could go, too?”

“Yeah, sure, man!Sniper won’t care if ya go with us, I know he won’t.I’ll talk to him about it and we can plan a day to go.”

As Pyro pulled him into another hug, Scout was hit with a wave of gratitude for his friend.Something like this was exactly what he needed right now.Making movie plans was something normal, something average, something that wasn’t death and lies and confusion.It was helping to keep Scout’s mind occupied—which was exactly what he needed right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you will all excuse the fact that there was no Sniper in this chapter. He'll be in the next chapter, I promise :)
> 
> And it's obviously not canon, but I've always imagined Spy smoking those pastel-colored Sobranie cigarettes. Personally I don't smoke, but if I did...


	27. Chapter 27

The camper was stuffy, but it was too cold outside to open up the windows and let some fresh air in.Cold by Sniper’s definition of the word, that is.It was about fifty degrees Fahrenheit out there, but even that was too nippy for Sniper’s tastes. 

Maybe it wasn’t _really_ stuffy in the camper, anyhow.Maybe it was just Sniper’s imagination.Scout hadn’t stopped talking since he walked in, but Sniper couldn’t fault the man for that.He was upset.Sad.That Bucky bloke—the one Scout had been keen on in high school, the one who was supposed to be Scout’s temporary replacement while he was in hospital—had died.

But even before Scout told him, Sniper had already heard about it.Truckie had showed him the front page of the Threepoint Gazette over their lunch break.As soon as he read the news article— _POLICE FIND MAN BURIED IN SHALLOW GRAVE IN THREEPOINT CEMETERY—_ he knew that explained why Scout was acting so odd out on the field.Scout was dying far more often than usual, trotting around like he was in a daze, making simple mistakes and quite literally putting himself right in the line of fire.Sniper tried to cover the man from up in his loft, but Scout was getting into more trouble than Sniper could fend off. 

Once, Scout had stopped moving altogether.Just stood there, arms slack at his sides, back slightly hunched.Sniper couldn’t help himself; he dialed in his scope to focus on Scout’s face, and the look of dejection and confusion he saw there made his stomach churn. 

Sniper knew he’d have to say something to Scout when the day was done and they were back at the base, something about this whole…ordeal.But what?He was rubbish at offering people comfort.Or he figured he was; he hadn’t had many opportunities to put his skills (or lack thereof) to the test.Should he wait to see if Scout mentioned it first?It wouldn’t be right if he, himself brought it up, would it?When he wasn’t trying to keep an eye out for Scout on the field, he was trying to think of something to say about the whole…Bucky…thing.

In the end, he hadn’t thought of anything, but it hadn’t mattered; Scout brought it up as soon as he came into the camper.Scout had ranted and babbled as he paced back and forth in front of the couch, Sniper watching the man like he might watch a swinging pendulum.Back, forth, back, forth.

He wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise even if he _could_ think of something good to say.Which he couldn’t.

Finally, Scout seemed to be running out of steam.He flopped down on the couch beside Sniper and stared down at his hands.

“So are ya mad at me?”

Sniper was a bit taken aback by that question.He hoped he hadn’t been _acting_ angry, because he wasn’t mad at Scout in the slightest. 

“Why would I b—“ Sniper started, but he had a hunch that that might not be the proper thing to say in this instance.“—No.No, course not.‘M not angry wiv you.Honest.”

But Scout didn’t seem so convinced.He ran a hand through his hair.“Well it’s just, I mean, I dunno why I—why I’m so—why’d it upset me so bad when I figured out he died, y’know?I didn’t care about him, I never wanted to see him again.Shit, the last time I saw him, he prob’ly woulda frickin’ killed me if Spy hadn’t a been there.Respawn woulda kept me from dyin’ for real, I know that, but ya heard what Doc said about respawn messin’ my leg up if it didn’t heal right, or whatever.That coulda been bad if he’d a killed me.And he prob’ly woulda, too.

So we hadn’t talked to each other since high school, and then he comes back into my life and he’s an even bigger dickhole than I expected him to be.I was glad when he left—well, everybody was glad, but me, especially.And after that, that was plenty a Bucky to last me a lifetime, I didn’t wanna see him anymore. 

But then I…then today I figure out he…he died?And Miss P’s prob’ly the one who killed him?Which means I kinda _helped,_ if ya think about it?I just, I just, I…I dunno.I dunno why it’s like this, Snipes.Why _I’m_ like this.I don’t.”

And then Scout grew quiet.He picked at his grip tape with bitten fingernails.Sniper could physically feel the tension thickening the air.Weather be damned, he was about to have to open up the windows and let some fresh air into the camper.He couldn’t breathe.

_Say something_ , his mind told him.

_I can’t think of anything._

_Saying anything’s better than saying nothing, innit?_

Sniper took a breath.“Well, er…you…the two o’ you had some good times together, yeah?Back in high school?Baseball, or whatnot?He, er…might not’ve been the best bloke later on in his life, but there _was_ a time when he was…good.Right?”

A wan smile crept to Scout’s lips.“Yeah.Yeah, he was a real good guy for awhile, there.We used to stay late after ball practice and help each other out with whatever we were strugglin’ in.Well, _I_ didn’t really struggle in anything, I was first baseman and a damn good one.I didn’t need any help.But Bucky always thought his curveball was weak, and I tried to tell him, y’know, just focus on your fastball, then, that’s a good go-to.But he didn’t wanna do that, he wanted to stay after practice and have me hit a few off him, so I did.And I…” 

He glanced up at Sniper, then returned his gaze to his hands.“Well, I really liked him—now I see it for what it was, it was real obviously a crush and I just didn’t wanna admit it—so I lied and said I needed some batting practice, anyway, so we’d both be helpin’ each other out.

I’d walk him home every time we stayed late.My apartment was in the complete opposite direction, but I didn’t care, I wanted to…”He glanced up at Sniper again and sighed.“I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could.I’d always try and, like…walk too close, or touch him by accident, y’know, stupid crap like that.Sometimes he’d do it back, too.And at the time I just thought I wanted to be, like, _best_ best friends with him, or whatever, but then after that night he, uh…kissed me, I figured it out for what it was.I _liked_ him, liked him.Y’know.”

“Yeah,” Sniper said, feeling stupid for muttering the one-word response as soon as he’d said it.Surely he could’ve come up with something better than _yeah_.If he’d had a few more hours to think about it, he was certain he could’ve come up with something more suitable. 

But Scout didn’t seem too bothered by Sniper’s lackluster response.He kept on with his train of thought like nothing had been said at all. 

“And then he ignored me and wouldn't talk to me.Uh.Kinda…kinda broke my heart a little bit, I guess.Then he shows up here, of all the places.Way worse than I ever thought he’d be.After I saw him and we had that fight, or whatever, I just felt…better.In a sick kinda way.Just knowin’ he didn’t do a complete one-eighty and he was some amazin’ guy now, it just…at least I _knew_ and I wouldn’t be wonderin’ about him anymore.”

“Closure,” Sniper mumbled.

“Exactly.Closure.I always wanted it, and I pretty much got it.He left without another word to me and I was good with that.I told myself, hey, if I never see that guy ever again, that’s groovy with me.It’s whatever.But I…that don’t mean I wanted him to…die like that.”

Scout’s eyes were getting glassy, which made Sniper’s stomach clench again.Sniper could tell that Scout was trying not to shed any tears.And if there was one thing Scout hated, it was crying, especially in front of other people.Sniper knew this.He also knew that if he said “please don’t cry” or something similar, it would only make the tears come quicker; years of palling around with his cousins Moira and Fran had taught him that.He couldn’t do much in this situation, but maybe he could try something.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Sniper raised a hand up and put it against Scout’s cheek.Scout reached his own hand up and pressed it against Sniper’s, holding it in place. 

“It’s just dumb, y’know?” Scout muttered.“I—we’re mercenaries.We kill people.Yeah, we got respawn, but I ain’t stupid.I know the Administrator and Miss P kill people all the time, people who get in their way.And they _stay_ dead.I dunno why I’m surprised they killed Bucky, I mean…Hardhat talked to me for a minute after we got off work, that’s why I was kinda late gettin’ over here.He saw the thing about Bucky in the newspaper, or sum’n.And what he said, it made sense, I guess.He said the Administrator had Bucky…killed…’cause he never got his respawn chip or his ubercharge mod took out.”

“Oh,” Sniper said.That did make a lot of sense, matter of fact.The contracts they’d all signed were very, very clear on the fact that any modifications implanted into their bodies were company property ( _government_ property, more like) and they were absolutely, positively _not_ allowed to leave RED without getting them removed first.“Suppose they, er…suppose they wanted to make sure he…that none o’ that technology got into the wrong hands.”

Scout tried to nod, but Sniper’s hand against his cheek made that difficult.“Think you’re right.I do.I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I still kinda am.And I can’t believe Miss P didn’t _tell_ me that was why we were goin’ to that restaurant, to scope him out.Or to find a good way for her to sneak back in there.Or whatever we were doin’.Guess she couldn’t risk tellin’ me, or I mighta tried to stop her, but…guess that’s what I signed up for, huh?”

_Don’t cry.Please don’t.Breaks me heart when I see you cryin’._

But no tears were shed.Scout pulled Sniper’s hand away from his cheek, and at first Sniper was a bit confused by that, but then Scout leaned over and wrapped his arms around Sniper’s neck.Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, Sniper still wasn’t a hundred percent accustomed to bodily contact; a small part of him had to suppress the urge to recoil from it. _It’s only Scout_ , he had to tell himself, sometimes.After all, Scout was the only human on the surface of the earth permitted to touch him.It took him a beat, but Sniper finally relaxed into the embrace and folded his arms around Scout’s waist.

Something soft pressed against Sniper’s cheek—Scout’s lips, kissing him there.From this angle, Sniper couldn’t quite reach Scout’s cheek, so he settled for giving the man a peck atop his head. 

“Nothin’ wrong wiv bein’ sad abou’…abou’ all this.He used to mean a lot to you.’N’ I know Miss Pauling’s a real secretive lady, but you ain’t wrong t’feel…t’feel a bit put out.Abou’ her not lettin’ you in on the plan, you know, when the two o’ you went to that restaurant.It’s all understandable.Perfectly understandable.”

“Ya think so?” Scout said, his words a bit hard to understand from his cheek being pressed against Sniper’s chest.

“Course.I know so.”

“You’re not just sayin’ that to make me feel better, are ya?”

“Reckon I could’ve come up wiv something better to say, if that’s what I was tryin’ to do.Could’ve said somethin’ like…like, erm…well.You get the idea.I meant it, is what…what I meant.Yeah.”

Scout made a noise that was hopefully a laugh—Sniper definitely heard a snort, so he was reasonably certain it _had_ been a laugh.“What a way with words,” Scout said.

“Mm, well.What can I say.Years o’ isolation has given me a gift.”

Scout lifted his head from Sniper’s chest and pulled away enough to look Sniper in the eye.“Well, hey.Ya got me now.And I got you.So, I mean, neither one of us has gotta be lonely no more, right?”

A bit of a smile tugged at the corners of Sniper’s mouth.“I don’t reckon you were ever lonely.”

“Ya kiddin’ me?In case ya haven’t noticed, you’re the only one who can stand to be around me for more than two minutes.”

“You know that ain’t true, gremlin.”

“I can’t really blame nobody for not wantin’ to be around me, though, all I do is talk, talk, talk.Kinda surprised ya can stand me, Snipes, I really am.Don’t I ever get on your nerves?”

Sniper had to smile a little at that.Maybe Scout wouldn’t be too offended by it.“Only when I’m tryin’ to read something.I can’t read and listen to people talkin’ at the same time.But aside from that, I like listening to you talk, it’s…it’s a bit amazing that you don’t ever run out of things to say.It’s very…calming.”

Scout gaped at him.“Never in my life has somebody told me they _like_ hearin’ me talk.”

“’N’ for me, it’s educational, as well.I don’t talk much on account of I never _have_ talked much.But since we’ve been together, I’ve learned quite a lot abou’ small talk.Take today as an example.Truckie wanted to talk to me on our lunch hour, ’n’ I didn’t do _great_ , mind, but I tried to think abou’ what _you_ might say.It helps.”

“Hey, it’s like I toldja last night, you’re gettin’ better at it.I can tell.And I want ya to know sum’n else, too.I know, like…like our _relationship_ or whatever the hell we’re gonna call it, I know it ain’t the most perfect thing.I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s kinda weird.Not weird in a _bad_ way, but y’know what I mean.But just ‘cause it’s weird, that…that don’t mean you’re not a good boyfriend, Snipes.This whole Bucky thing, it’s…I know I’m upset about it, and I’m glad you’re not mad at me for it, is all I’m sayin’.Some people _would_ be mad.”

“They would?”

“I think so.Or, uh…hell, I dunno.Everybody’s mad at me all the time, anyway, so maybe that’s just me.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t get on your nerves, like, twenty-four-seven?I don’t piss ya off?”

“Er…is this a trick question?”

“Nah, ya can just be honest, like…like everybody’s always tellin’ me I talk too much or quit runnin’ around or sit down or pay attention or listen to what they’re sayin’ or quit jigglin’ my leg or stop pickin’ at the tape on my hands or quit bitin’ my nails or don’t put my hands in my hair ‘cause it’ll make it greasy or quit poppin’ my gum or I needa talk quieter or just _whatever_.I can make a whole big list a shit I do that gets on people’s nerves, and I mean, that’s why I kinda can’t believe ya never get mad at me, y’know?”

Sniper shook his head.“No one’s perfect.”

Scout grinned, flashing Sniper his buck teeth.“Y’know what it is about’cha?You’re a really patient guy, that’s what it is.”

“Bein’ patient’s kind of in me job description, love.”

And then Scout was kissing him.Scout’s lips were scratchy and wind-chapped, but Sniper didn’t mind that at all.As a matter of fact, Sniper liked it, in a strange sort of way.Sniper kissed him back, leaning into the kiss as best he could at such a strange angle. 

As always, Scout was the one to pull away first; Sniper didn’t know how long kisses should be, so he was never the one to end them.The kiss had been short, but it was very nice.Quite satisfying.

“This day, man,” Scout muttered.“It’s been so crazy.I dunno what I’d’ve done without ya today, Snipes.You’re just…good.You’re such a…just a _good_ person.I hope ya know that.”

Sniper would have to disagree with that a bit, but of course, he wouldn’t say that aloud.“So’re you,” he said instead.

Then Scout did something strange.He took Sniper’s hand in both of his, brought it to his lips, and kissed the middle of Sniper’s palm.For whatever strange reason, it sent a jolt of electricity straight to Sniper’s loins.Which was a _very_ rare occurrence. 

_Very_.

“Y’know what?” Scout said.“Yeah.We’re both good people.‘Cause I said so.”

“’S right,” Sniper agreed.“Why not?”

“Yeah, exactly, why the hell not?”

It was an interesting concept, to be sure.Sniper gave Scout a quick peck on the forehead.

“Say.You hungry, by chance?”

“Aw, man, I’m frickin’ _starvin’._ ”

Sniper scratched the stubble dotting his cheek.“I could make something, I suppose.Or…”

Scout tilted his head, eyebrows raised.“Or…?”

“Or, we could…you know.If there’s a place you know of…a house that may or may not serve waffles inside…we could go there.If you felt up to it, that is.”

“A house that may or may not serve waffles, you say,” Scout nodded.“Huh.I think I heard a that place before, now that ya mention it.”

“Only if y’feel up to it.I…just thought I might…suggest it.”

Scout thought about it for a second.“Waffles do sound pretty good right now, don’t they?”

“They do,” Sniper admitted.

“Ah, what the hell.Like Ma always says, ‘he ain’t gettin’ any deader.’Let’s go, let’s have a good time and forget about all this shit for awhile, huh?”

_‘He ain’t gettin’ any deader?’_ Was Scout’s mum a murderess, by chance?  Sniper nearly opened his mouth to ask, but in light of the situation, he thought it might be in bad taste.

“Yeah,” Sniper said instead.“You drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the episodic plot with no ending in sight continues!!  
> See, at the beginning, I spent several chapters building up to the first romantic encounter and now I'm just ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I want to tie all the chapters together--unified theme, or whatever--but then again I just ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I dunno.  
> I swear I'm actually trying to make it good, though. I'm trying to build on what was in the previous chapter(s) when I write the new ones. And I really do appreciate everyone who's still reading this, I really really do. I genuinely appreciate the people who read this, so thank you.


	28. Epilogue Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, pals. The main part of the story is over...but now it's time for the EPILOGUE. There will be more than one segment to the epilogue, though; this chapter's only the first installment.

This entire thing was a bad idea.There was no way it would end well.Sniper had tried to tell that to Scout in the gentlest way he could, but Scout was so set on going to Boston, there’d been no way to talk him out of it. 

Well, at least they’d had fun on the road trip up to Massachusetts.If nothing else, Sniper had taken several Polaroids of Scout’s grinning, buck-toothed mug standing in front of various travel stops and tourist traps along the way.Once, they’d stopped at a gas station with dozens of fiberglass dinosaurs on display, and Scout dragged some poor man over and forced him to take Scout and Sniper’s photo in front of a bright yellow T-rex.At the time, Sniper had been a bit mortified at the whole situation, but he ended up thankful for the photo of the two of them together.The thirty-four hours of driving, driving, and more driving would all be worth it to him just for that single photograph, which he’d taped to the wall next to his bed.

But now that they were finally in Boston, standing on the front porch of Scout’s mother’s home, Sniper tried one last time to talk some reason into the man standing beside him.

Scout extended a finger and positioned it above the doorbell, but Sniper grabbed the man’s hand just before he had a chance to press it.

“Hold on,” Sniper muttered.

The look on Scout’s face seemed to say _you know I love you but at this moment you are irritating me._ “Snipes, we been over this a thousand times.It’s gonna be fine, okay?”

Sniper had many reasons to believe this whole encounter would be anything _but_ fine, but there seemed to be no convincing Scout of this.He had to try one last time before the point of no return, though.

“Maybe I oughter wait outside…” Sniper said, his hand floating over to scratch at his wrist.But instead of his fingernails digging into flesh like usual, his gloved fingers clawed against a gray tweed overcoat, doing little to assuage his nerves.

Gently, Scout tugged his hand from Sniper’s grip.“Ya ain’t waitin’ outside, it’ll be _fine_.”Sniper could practically hear the eye roll in his voice.“Plus, I mean, look.”Scout waved his hand out at the front yard.The snow was falling in fat flakes, making short work of dusting everything in a fluffy white powder.“It’s freezin’ out here.”

Just looking at the snow made Sniper tuck his chin even deeper into the folds of his thick wool scarf.He might’ve lived in the States for the past nine years, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the cold weather here.And he thought New Mexico was bad; it was much, _much_ colder up in the northeast. 

Still, he’d stand in the snow all night if it meant saving face with Scout’s mother.

Sniper looked at the doorbell, then to Scout.“Last chance to change your mind, love,” he said.

To his credit, Scout seemed to think about it for a second or two before shaking his head.“Nah, I gotta do this,” he said, “I wanna tell her.And I know Ma.The best way to do it is to just treat it like rippin’ off a bandaid.Just get it all out in the open, all at once.That’s why I wanted ya here, so she can _see_ ya.And she’ll know…that I’m…that we’re serious, y’know?”

Well, it went without saying that Scout knew his mother better than Sniper did; what little Sniper knew came from Scout’s mouth, anyhow.If Scout thought this was the best way to tell his mother about their relationship…then maybe he was right.

Sniper nodded slowly.“Okay.”

Scout nudged him with his elbow.“Think you’re more nervous about this than I am.”

Sniper’s lips twinged in an almost-smile. “I probably am.”

When Scout rang the doorbell, a shock of coldness started in the center of Sniper’s chest and sparked its way down to the pit of his stomach.And when the door opened not two seconds later, Sniper was reasonably certain his heart had stopped altogether.

In the doorway stood a woman that looked so much like Scout, it was uncanny.They had the same expressive blue eyes, same pointed nose, same high cheekbones, same pouty lips.Her chin was pointier than his and her jawline was more rounded, but neither of those factors deterred from their eerie similarity.

Sniper would have to admit—for a nearly fifty-two-year-old woman, Scout’s mother looked damn good for her age.Had he not known any better, he’d assume she was in her late thirties.

And she looked even younger when her eyes fell upon her son, her eyes widening and her red-painted lips bursting into an open-mouthed smile.

“ _Kenicky!_ ” she wailed.She immediately threw her arms around Scout and he did the same to her, and for the few seconds they embraced it was honestly hard to tell where one of them started and the other one ended. 

“Oh my _goodness_ , oh, sweetheart, I didn’t know ya were comin’ up here!” she said, her voice half-muffled from her face squishing against Scout’s cheek.“Ya shoulda called before ya came, I’d a had some dinner waitin’ on ya!Not that I’m complainin’ about ya bein’ here, nuttin’ like that, I’m more than happy to see my baby—“

With a decent amount of difficulty, Scout yanked himself from his mother’s vice grip.“How ‘bout we talk when we get inside, Ma, it’s _freezin’_.And Lawrence here don’t do cold weather, he ain’t used to it.”

Scout’s mother finally looked over at Sniper.Sniper stiffened under her gaze.

“Oh!” she said, looking genuinely surprised, like Sniper had materialized from thin air.“I didn’t notice ya brought somebody with ya, Kenicky!Let’s get the two of ya in here and outta this weather.C’mon, c’mon.”

She ushered the two men inside and shut the door behind them.It was much, much warmer inside than out, warm enough that Scout immediately began peeling off his hat and coat.Honestly, Sniper could probably keep all of his outerwear on without any real discomfort, but he didn’t want Scout’s mother to think him strange before he’d even said his first word to her.So he did as Scout did, pulling off all his winter dressings and hooking them onto the coat rack by the door.

The house’s entryway widened into a high-ceilinged living room.Sniper’s eye was immediately drawn to the stone fireplace built into the far wall, its hearth tall and spacious enough to allow a number of people to sit down on it and enjoy the warmth from up close.Arranged around the fireplace were two boxy, overstuffed sofas with matching armchairs, a glass-top coffee table, and some sort of very hairy rug in the center of it all.It all looked like it came straight from the Bloomingdales catalog—which, with Scout sending his mother a considerable sum of money every month, it probably did.It looked nice, Sniper supposed…maybe a bit too nice.Like if you dared to sit on any of the furniture, it would collapse beneath your weight. 

“You boys thirsty?” Scout’s mother asked over her shoulder as she led them into the living room.“I bet you’re thirsty.I got Coke, I got Tab—that’s mainly me that drinks the Tab but you’re more than welcome to have one—uh, there’s a couple Sprites left in there…oh, and I got a fresh pot a coffee I just made, too, if anybody’s interested in that.”

Scout had warned Sniper ahead of time that his mother would try and lavish the two of them with hospitality, and it would be in his best interest to bluntly accept it.It would hurt his mother’s feelings if they didn’t.

“Hey, grab me a Coke if you’re goin’ in the kitchen, Ma,” Scout told her.“Sn—Lawrence, what’re ya drinkin’?”

Such a simple question, but the answer was nowhere to be found in Sniper’s brain.He looked from Scout to his mother and back to Scout, both of whom were staring at him expectantly.

“Ya haven’t had a cup a coffee since this mornin’,” Scout pointed out, trying to gently coax Sniper into finding his voice.Scout had to do that a lot with Sniper, more than Sniper liked to admit.

Sniper cleared his throat.  “Cuppa coffee’d be lovely, if y’don’t mind, Miss—“

And Sniper’s mind went blank yet again.He _thought_ he’d burned Scout’s mother’s last name into his brain in rehearsal for this meeting, but he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.He could remember Scout’s real last name just fine, but he knew the two of them didn’t share the same one. 

_Ah, piss—_

Scout’s mother flapped a hand at him, her red-lacquered nails glinting in the firelight.“Please, sweetie, just call me Vicky.”

_Vicky.Kenicky.Vicky and Kenicky.That oughter be easy to remember._

“…Vicky,” Sniper said, punctuating her name with a polite nod.

“Sure thing.What was your name again, sweetie?Lawrence?”

Sniper wasn’t accustomed to being referred to by his real name.Scout called him Lawrence every now and again, but it sounded so strange coming from Vicky’s lips.Scout’s real name didn’t sound right, either.

Then again, he wasn’t so sure he wanted his boyfriend’s mum calling him _Sniper_.That was just odd, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” he said. “Er, yes.Miss—Vicky.”

She laughed, but Sniper was reasonably certain she was laughing with him, not at him.Hopefully that was the case, anyhow.“I’ll bring ya some creamer and some sugar and ya can fix it how ya like it, how’s that?”

Sniper thought about telling her that wouldn’t be necessary, he’d just take it black, but then he remembered what Scout said about accepting his mother’s generosity.

“Thanks,” he said, because he didn’t really know what else to tell her other than that.

Vicky bustled off to the kitchen and Scout flopped down on the couch.He gave Sniper’s sleeve a little tug, coaxing him to follow suit.The couch was just as stiff and uncomfortable as it looked, but it likely wasn’t purchased for the comfort factor.As soon as Vicky turned the corner and was out of sight, Scout gave Sniper a reassuring pat on the thigh.

“You’re doin’ fine,” Scout said in a hushed tone, pressing a quick kiss to Sniper’s cheek.

“We haven’t got to the bad part yet,” Sniper said darkly.God.Of all the things he could’ve said, he chose that…

Using the back of his hand, Scout gave Sniper a playful smack on the arm.“So negative,” Scout scolded.“You dunno, this could turn out great.”

“Mmn,” Sniper groaned.He seriously doubted anything about this little meaning would turn out great.

“Hey, ya think me and my Ma look alike?”

“She couldn’t deny you if she wanted to.”

Scout laughed and ran a hand through his dishwater-blonde hair.“Guess I got this hair color from my dad, though, huh?Whoever _that_ asshole is.Heh.”

“You certainly got your eyes from your mum, that’s a definite.”

“Yeah, we look a lot alike in the face, don’t we?My brothers, they don’t look this much like her.That’s prob’ly how come I’m her favorite.”

Sniper was about to say some sort of conversational, mostly meaningless remark in response to that, but before he had the chance to say anything, Vicky returned to the living room.She carried a ceramic serving tray with a steaming coffee mug and all the fixings atop it, plus Scout’s Coke can.Carefully, she placed the tray down on the coffee table and then sat down in one of the armchairs adjacent to the sofa.

“Whoa, Ma,” Scout said, plucking his Coke from the tray and popping the tab.“When’d ya get so fancy, huh?”

“Don’tcha love that thing?” Vicky said, gesturing to the tray.“I got it Woolworth’s about a month ago and I been usin’ it like crazy.Your Nona tries to steal it from me every time she comes to visit, and I think that girlfriend a Tommy’s has got her eye on it, too.What was her name again?Tina, ain’t it?”

“Tiff,” Scout corrected.

“Tiff, that’s right, it’s Tiff.Good Gawd, ya think I’d remember that poor girl’s name by now, Tommy’s been datin’ her nearly two years…”

While the two of them prattled on about one of Scout’s brothers and said brother’s girlfriend, Sniper was perfectly content with the fact that he’d been forgotten.The longer they could stave off the inevitable, the better.He tore open some sugar packets and stirred it into his coffee, then added a little splash of liquid creamer into it as well.He sipped it idly, listening to the mother-son duo bounce bits of conversation off one another.Sniper had always suspected it, but now he knew for certain:Scout had learned to be a motormouth from his mother.

“Oh, Gawd,” Vicky said after about five minutes, finally looking over at Sniper.“Where on Earth’re my manners?I’m so sorry, Lawrence, I swear I wasn’t ignorin’ ya over there.I just get caught up in tellin’ a story sometimes.I’m Vicky, I’m Kenicky’s Ma—but I think ya figured all that out already.So you and Kenicky, are the two a you friends, or what?Didja meet at work, do the two a you work together down in New Mexico?”

“Er,” Sniper said, sitting his coffee cup back down on the serving tray.“Well, er—yeah.Yes.We work together in Teufort—“

“How long’ve you two known each other?” Vicky said.

“Since Sc—since Kenicky started workin’ there, I reckon.So, erm.Nearly seven years—“

“Ya work together a lot?”

“Every day,” Sniper said with a weak nod.“We don’t see each other much, but we…er.We’ve got the same schedule.Yeah.”

Vicky flashed Sniper a cheeky smile.“Do ya make sure my baby behaves himself?”

Sniper felt his cheeks grow hot.He didn’t know how much longer he could endure these rapid-fire questions.“I certainly try ’n’ keep him out of trouble, miss.”

“You’re makin’ him nervous with all these questions, Ma,” Scout interjected, “maybe cool it down a little bit.”

“I’m just askin’ him some questions, here, tryin’ to get to know him!” Vicky countered.“New Mexico’s a long, long ways from here, honey-bunny.If ya brought Lawrence all the way up to Massachusetts, he’s gotta be a best friend, not just a regular friend, am I right?”Vicky raised her plucked eyebrows at her son, awaiting his response.

“Uh,” Scout said, giving her a sheepish smile in return.“You could say we’re best friends, I guess, yeah.”

Vicky’s eyebrows shot downward as she furrowed them.“Whaddya mean by that?”

_Oh, hell_ , Sniper thought, _here we go_. 

He sat up straighter on the couch, brought his knees together, and put his hands in his lap, just the way his mum used to make him sit while they were in church.Sitting prim ’n’ proper, she’d called it.Sniper doubted prim ’n’ proper would make a hair of difference at this point, but it wouldn’t hurt to try it.

“Well,” Scout began, “I’m real glad ya brought that up, Ma, ‘cause that’s actually why me and Lawrence drove up here.‘Cause I wanted to tell ya in person.”

Vicky’s mouth was a tight-lipped red line.“What’re ya tryin’ to tell me, here, Kenicky?”

_She’s so angry_ , Sniper thought, physically restraining himself from fidgeting under her fiery gaze. _God, is she angry._

Scout took a breath.“Awright, Ma, ya know I ain’t too good at explainin’ stuff so I’m just gonna spit it out.Me and Lawrence are…well, we been…datin’ each other nearly a year now.He’s, uh.He’s…kinda my boyfriend.”

Even though Sniper could see the fireplace from the corner of his eye, jumping and crackling indifferently in the grate, it still seemed like all the heat had been sucked from the room—sucked from the room and deposited directly into Vicky’s hot, murderous glare that sent a shiver down Sniper’s spine.He thought that was just an old saying, not something that really happened—getting a shiver down your spine.But it quite literally felt like someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt.

“He’s your _what?_ ” Vicky seethed.The question was obviously directed at her son, but her eyes never left Sniper.So badly, Sniper wanted to look away, but something told him that would be a bad choice.

Scout’s hand came to rest atop Sniper’s thigh.Scout sighed.“Boyfriend, Ma.Boyfriend.Partner, lover, uh…special somebody?Gentleman caller?”

“I know what _boyfriend_ means,” Vicky snapped.“So what’re ya tellin’ me, here, huh?You’re tellin’ me my youngest—“

She splayed her hands out in front of her in a calming gesture and took a deep, loud breath.When she spoke again, her voice was light, friendly, and conversational.

“Kenicky, sweetheart?Can me and you talk in the kitchen for a second, please?”

The grip on Sniper’s thigh tightened.“Well I guess we can, yeah, but you’re makin’ a big deal outta this and—“

“Let’s just talk about it in the kitchen, okay?” Vicky said with forced sweetness.She stood up from her chair and turned her back to the two of them, walking off toward the kitchen without waiting around for Scout to follow.

For a moment, Scout and Sniper just looked at each other in stunned silence.Scout was the first to snap out of it, sighing deeply as he rose to his feet.

“Guess I gotta go in there and talk to her,” Scout said with a shrug.“Kinda thought this’d happen.She's done the whole ‘can we talk in the kitchen’ thing before.”Scout sighed again, then bent down to give Sniper a barely-there peck on the forehead.“I’ll try’n make it quick, though.Just sit tight.”

“No hurry,” Sniper said, trying his best to sound casual, and certainly not horrified at the thought of sitting alone in a strange home while his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s mother had a row in another room.

“If I know Ma, this ain’t gonna take very long, anyway,” Scout assured him.“I’m gonna go get this over with.”

Scout went into the kitchen, leaving Sniper to finish his coffee in solitude.He downed the rest of it in two swallows, but kept both hands wrapped round the mug, just for something to tether him to his current plane of reality. 

He couldn’t help but wonder why Scout’s mother would bother with going into another room to talk to her son.Clearly she had a few things to say that were Not Very Nice—things about his and Scout’s relationship, things she didn’t want him to overhear.But Scout would tell him everything that was said, anyway.Maybe she didn’t want Sniper to be able to put his two cents in while she and Scout argued?That had to be it; Sniper couldn’t think of any other reasonable explanation for taking the matter to another room.Not that he’d ever argue with Vicky, anyhow, but she can’t’ve known that about him.She’d only known him ten minutes.

From the kitchen, Sniper could hear muffled shouting.He could tell that Vicky was the one doing the yelling, but he couldn’t make out any of the words. 

Hearing the shouting from the kitchen brought a memory to the forefront of Sniper’s mind.When his and Scout’s relationship first became official nearly a year ago, Scout had made him promise something:Sniper was _never_ to yell at him.Sniper wouldn’t do that, anyway, but he was especially careful to watch his tone if he and Scout ever got into an argument (which didn’t happen too often, honestly—just a few little lover’s quarrels here and there).Scout couldn’t even stand to hear _other_ people shout at one another, and now he was being yelled at by his own mother. 

That was _bad_. 

Bad enough that Sniper sat his coffee mug back down onto the ceramic serving platter and stood up.He scraped up what little courage he had and started walking toward the kitchen.He didn’t know what he’d do when he got in there, but he knew he needed to get Scout out of that situation, and quickly.

He’d made it halfway to his destination when the swinging kitchen door flung open and Scout stomped through the doorway.His entire face and neck was blotchy with an angry blush, the likes of which Sniper had only seen a handful of times.Scout’s features were drawn-in and pinched, like…

…oh.

Like he was trying to keep from crying.

“C’mon, Snipes,” Scout said, breezing past Sniper and heading for the front door.“We’re leavin’, I guess.”

“Leavin’?” Sniper echoed, hurrying after him. 

Scout stopped at the coat rack, threw his coat on, and jammed the hat Sniper had knitted him onto his head.“Yeah, leavin’.Ma don’t want us here no more, she said we needa leave.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

This was turning out to be worse than Sniper thought it would be.All he could do at that point was hurry up and put his outerwear on so they could leave.Now wasn’t the time for talking about it, and even if it was, he likely wouldn’t know what to say.He’d need to think about this, for a moment.

Scout dashed out to the Mustang, which was already covered in an inch of fresh snow, and flung himself into the passenger’s seat.He slammed the car door with such force, the sound of it echoed all the way down the suburban neighborhood.Sniper pulled the keys from his pocket as he jogged through the snow, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started up the engine.

Would’ve been nice if they’d had the chance to let the car warm up while they waited by that fireplace inside, but as Demo was so fond of saying, “shit happens.”Sniper would just have to grin and bear the cold, which was undoubtedly nothing compared to what Scout was currently going through.Whatever was said in the kitchen between Scout and his mother had been bad, that went without question; the question was _how bad_.Sniper wanted to ask, but judging by the stony look on Scout’s face, now would absolutely not be a good time to do that.

“We’ll talk abou’ it when we’re back at the hotel, yeah?” Sniper said, dialing his voice down to a low murmur.

Scout tugged at the ear flaps on either side of his hat, shielding his eyes and the majority of his face from Sniper’s view.

“Yeah,” Scout said with a sniffle.

Not another word was spoken between the two of them during the whole drive back to the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how long the epilogue will be, specifically, but I do know how I want it to end. I've got a clear end-goal in mind this time, unlike when I first started on this fic. I don't think these chapters will be any particular length, either, but we'll just have to see!!


	29. Epilogue Part Two

There wasn’t much of a point in the two men staying in a hotel, but they were staying in one, anyway.They’d driven up to Boston in the Winnie (with Scout’s Mustang hitched to the back) and could have just as easily stayed at an RV campground.It probably would’ve been the simpler solution, matter of fact; they ended up parking the Winnie at a campground a few miles away from the city, since it’d be too hard to navigate the heavy Boston traffic in a camper with a vehicle trailing it.They could’ve just driven the Mustang back to the campground instead of a hotel.

But Scout said he was getting a little stir-crazy inside the Winnie.Three days of nothing but straight driving would do that to you if you weren’t used to it.Scout declared that a slight change of scenery would be nice, and that there was a really nice hotel not too far from his mother’s house.There was a good chance that his mother would invite them to stay in one of her many spare bedrooms, Scout said, but they’d better book a hotel room to be on the safe side.

Good thing they’d gotten the hotel room.

Sniper could count on one hand how many times he’d seen Scout cry.Sure, he’d seen Scout’s eyes get a little misty on numerous occasions, but full-out cry?Scout tried to avoid doing that at all costs.It was a fatal blow to the overly-masculine façade he tried so hard to uphold.

Seeing Scout’s sodden cheeks and puffy eyes and reddened nose made Sniper’s heart ache.Hearing Scout’s sob-strangled voice was even worse.Though Sniper was neither here nor there when it came to physical affection, he knew that Scout really liked it; so he sat atop the hotel mattress, back resting against the headboard, a bawling Scout huddled in his lap.Sniper’s fingernails grazed up and down the length of Scout’s back, just the way Scout liked it—though Sniper didn’t think a simple back-scratching would be doing much to help matters.

Even through tears, Scout couldn’t stop talking.But that was a good thing, actually, Sniper reckoned.It was loads better in the long run to talk about whatever was bothering you instead of keeping it to yourself.Sniper would know; years of no human companions had driven him to holding in-depth conversations with animals.Even _that_ helped ease one’s troubles a bit, but it was all the better when the creature you were talking to had the ability to say something back.

“I just—I really just _can’t believe_ she kicked us outta there like that, though,” Scout said, distracting himself by undoing and refastening a button on Sniper’s shirt.“That ain’t like her, I swear she ain’t ever—I mean yeah, I seen her get mad before, but not over sum’n like this.I just don’t get it, I guess.Kinda feels like it didn’t even happen, like…like maybe I dreamed it all up.I know it really happened, obviously, but still.Just feels so _crazy._ ”

By now, the majority of Scout’s crying had stopped, though he still snorted and sniffled a little bit.Sniper plucked another kleenex from the box on the nightstand and handed it to the man adhered to his chest.Scout took the proffered tissue, noisily blew his nose into it, and tossed it to the floor.

“And y’know what the worst part is?If I’d a listened to you or Tommy, this coulda been avoided.I called Tommy the night before we left, and he tried to talk me outta it again.He _said_ Ma’d blow a gasket if I told her…about us, but I thought—I really thought if she could see _you_ in person, see how, like, _good_ ya are, and stuff, and how…how happy I am…”

Scout tried to shrug, but in his current position, it was more of an awkward wiggle.“But it’s like I told Tommy on the phone a few days ago.He was tryin’ to warn me about tellin’ Ma all’a this, and I told him I wanted to risk it.‘Cause all the time, Ma asks me how come I ain’t got a girlfriend yet, when’m I gonna settle down and get married—tch, like she’s one to talk, huh?—when’m I gonna have her some more grandkids, all kinds a questions like that.So, y’know.I wanted her to meetcha so she’d…I dunno, just so she’d know, I guess.”

Sniper let all of that sink in for a moment.Before now, he hadn’t really questioned why Scout was so set on telling his mother about the two of them; just seemed like something Scout had his heart set on doing.Sniper knew the outcome of it was likely to be disastrous, and he _did_ try and talk Scout out of it on more than one occasion, but the younger man simply wouldn’t hear it. 

And apparently, Scout’s brother Tommy (the brother nearest to Scout in age with just a year between them—probably why they were so close) had tried to talk him out of telling his mother, too.

Yet Scout still felt the need to tell her.Why?What made him want to tell her so badly?What did he expect to gain from it?

_…Ah._

“Didn’t wanna lie to your mum anymore, yeah?” Sniper asked.

“Well, I mean…that’s a big part of it, for sure, but that ain’t the only reason I wanted to tell her about ya so bad.I just…I got a big family, obviously.And me and you, we don’t get a lotta time off work, so when we _do_ get some time off, it’d just be nice if I could…if I could bring ya around, y’know?For Thanksgivin’ and Christmas and birthdays and weddin’s and whatever.Like my brothers get to do with their wives.Or girlfriends, or whatever they got now.It, uh…this is gonna sound sappy as shit, but I sorta wanted to make ya part of the family.”Scout sighed.“But Ma had to go all crazy on me, a course.Which, frankly, I’m still just kinda _shocked_ by.Whatever, though.I tried.It is what it is, I guess.”

Scout detached himself from Sniper and stood up, stretching his arms high above his head.As his arms went up, so did his tee shirt, exposing a stripe of peach-fuzzy abdominal flesh until he lowered his arms back down to his sides. 

“Sorry, Snipes,” Scout said, “I can’t sit still no more, I gotta move.”

He picked up all his tissue balls from the floor and tossed them into the little trash can just inside the bathroom.That done, he started pacing the room, going back and forth from the front door to the bathroom door.

“Maybe I’ll go run and get us some ice, or sum’n,” Scout said, picking up the plastic-lined ice bucket sitting atop the TV stand.Sniper wasn’t sure what they’d do with ice, since all the drinks they purchased from the soda machine were plenty cold enough already, but he wouldn’t say anything.Scout turned the ice bucket over in his hands a few times before sitting it back down.

“Nah, never mind,” he said, taking a seat at the little writing desk tucked into the corner of the room.“I gotta call Tommy.He wanted me to call him and tell him how Ma reacted.”He took the receiver from its cradle with one hand and punched the number in with the other.As he sat there with the phone pressed up to his ear, Scout looked over to Sniper and gave him a weak eyeroll.

“Bouta hear some ‘I told ya so’s, I frickin’ know I—hey, it’s Kenicky.Tommy around anywhere?”

 

****

 

Spy had been just about to doze off in his armchair when the telephone rang.

Whoever was calling him had great timing, Spy would have to admit.He’d very nearly fallen asleep with a lit cigarette dangling from between his index and middle finger again.He’d put many a singed hole in chair arms and suit trousers doing that.Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he crushed his spent cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and picked up the telephone.

“Yes?”

“It’s Vicky, can ya talk?”

She sounded nervous.Spy sat up a bit straighter in his chair.

“Yes,” he said.“Is there something the matter?”

“Well, it’s—kinda.Mainly I just wanted some advice, I guess.”She huffed a little sigh into the phone.“I did a bad thing, and I feel just rotten about it.I wanted to know what ya thought I oughta do to fix it.If there _is_ anything I can do to fix it, even.”

Something that vague could mean a large number of things.He needed more information.

“I see,” he said thoughtfully.“This ‘bad thing,’ does it involve bloodshed?”

“Nah, no, nonono, nuttin’ like that.It’s”—another huff—“it’s about Kenicky.”

Spy nodded to himself, thinking for a moment before he responded.When he got word that two of his… _fellow mercenaries_ decided to use two weeks’ worth of their vacation days at the same time, Spy assumed that the two of them might be venturing up into Boston.He also predicted that, once they were there, one of those teammates may wish to visit his mother…possibly introduce her to a certain someone.All of this was only a hunch, of course, but a very plausible hunch. 

He smiled a little to himself.“Did he pay you a visit today, cher?”

“Oh, it wasn’t just him.  He brought somebody else with him, too.”

_Seems as if my assumption was correct_ , Spy thought. 

“Ah, did he bring Lawrence along with him?He’s a fine enough gentleman, don’t you think so?”

“Ah—!  Y’know what, I was about to ask how ya knew about this _Lawrence_ already, but I prob’ly don’t wanna know,” Vicky said.  “How come ya didn’t call me and tell me all’a this, though?”

“Tell you about what?” Spy said innocently, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

“About _our son_ havin’ a frickin’—!I can’t even say it.”

“Boyfriend?” Spy offered.

“Yeah,” Vicky muttered, “that.”

“Lawrence is a bit…rough around the edges, but I have to admit that he treats Kenicky very well.He may not be much for conversation, and he seems to fear even his own shadow, but he is a decent man nonetheless.You didn't think so?”

Vicky hesitated.“I’m gonna be honest, here, I—I didn’t really give him a chance.After Kenicky told me Lawrence was his…his boyfriend, and not just a friend from work or whatever, I just lost it.I was so mad I couldn’t even think.I took Kenicky in the kitchen to talk to him, and I…I definitely said some things I ain’t proud of.Some hurtful things.Lookin’ back on it, I just…I’m feelin’ real bad about it, I shoulda never jumped all over him like I did.”

“And what happened after the incident in the kitchen?” Spy asked her.“Surely the visit did not go on as normal after that.”

“That’s…another thing.I kinda…kicked ‘em out.I told Kenicky…I told him he better not bring that Lawrence to my house ever again.So they left.”

“Ah,” Spy said.“And now you are feeling guilty.”

“Very.”

“You realize if you are to apologize, you will have to make amends with our son _and_ his partner, correct?”

“Well, see, I—I’m still not gettin’ this, though.Don’tcha think this might just be a _phase_ he’s goin’ through?‘Cause growin’ up, he always had tons a girlfriends, and now he wants to come around here and tell me he’s got a…a boyfriend now?That don't make sense.”

“According to you, all of the ‘girlfriends’ he had in his youth did not last very long.”

“…No, I mean, I guess they didn’t…maybe a couple weeks, but that’s pretty normal for a young guy, ain’t it?”

“Regardless of what is normal and what isn’t, I think it is important to note that he and Lawrence have been dating for almost an entire year now.That is almost longer than all of his previous relationships combined, non?”

“…Well, yeah.Guess…guess ya got a point there.But I just—don’t he realize all he’s gonna miss out on, though?Gettin’ married, havin’ kids, buyin’ a house—“

“I doubt he had any intentions of doing those things in the first place.Besides, one can live a perfectly fulfilling life without any of the things you just mentioned.”

“I just want him to be normal and happy, though.And that’s why I got so mad at him, I just—I’m his Ma, I just want the absolute best for him, and he ain’t gonna get married or have kids or none’a that stuff with some _man._ I’m sorry I hurt my baby, and I wanna tell him I’m sorry, ‘cause I _am_ sorry, but…but I dunno how I feel about that _Lawrence_ yet.I dunno if…if I could get along with him just yet.I just wanna put all’a this behind us and go on.”

Spy lit a cigarette, took a drag from it, and let it rest between his fingers.“But you will not be able to, as you say, ‘put it behind you’ until you can accept Lawrence for precisely what he is—which just so happens to be our son’s lover.”

For a moment, there was only silence on the other end of the phone.Truthfully, Spy didn’t like being so direct and callous with his former lover—there would always be a special place in his heart for her—but that was the only way his words would penetrate that overlarge hairdo of hers and seep down into her head.

“Ya don’t think Kenicky’s gettin’ himself into sum’n he shouldn’t be gettin’ into?” she said, finally.

“If he is, he will learn from his mistakes and move on.Such is life,” Spy said simply.“But no.I don’t think Kenicky will ever regret being romantically involved with Lawrence.Already, I’ve noticed some behavioral changes in him that are definite improvements.He has a much _calmer_ temperament, for example.Actually, I think Lawrence is a good influence on him.”

“But he’s so _old!_ If Kenicky’s gonna date some _man_ , how come he can’t get with somebody his own age!”

“Lawrence is thirty-eight years old and Kenicky is twenty-five.That is not so bad.”

“The hell it ain’t!That’s—that’s _thirteen years!_ ”

“Surely you have dated outside of your own age group.I certainly have.”

“Yeah, but—but that ain’t the same thing.”

Spy laughed.“And why not?”

“Just ‘cause it ain’t,” she countered.

“Well, then.How can I argue against such irrefutable logic?”

“You and your big fancy words, I swear…”

Spy took a thoughtful drag from his cigarette.“The difference in age doesn’t matter with these two.If you had spoken to them together for more than a few minutes, you would realize that.They balance each other’s personalities quite well.And they seem to be happy together, in any case.I do hope you will rethink things and decide to give Lawrence a chance.”

“You sure are sidin’ with Kenicky on this whole thing, like _big time_ , y’know that?”

Another drag from the cigarette.  Spy let the smoke hiss between his teeth on the exhale.

“Perhaps it is my humble way of making up for lost time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to depict Scoutma as the devil incarnate...taking the last chapter into consideration, that's pretty much what I did...but I knew I'd be showing this side of her in the following chapter. Don't get me wrong, she's not redeemed from her actions...but we're on the path to getting a little better, maybe.
> 
> Also, sorry I'm using the names I picked for Scout and Sniper instead of their class names. I honestly try to avoid doing that as much as I can, since I know it gets on some people's nerves, but in a lot of instances it can't be avoided. Ah, well.


	30. Epilogue Part Three

In a way, Scout and his older brother Tommy looked a lot alike.They had eerily similar button noses, full lips, pointed chins, and angular jawlines, but there were also some striking differences between the two of them. 

Tommy’s hair was jet black (like his mother’s) and pulled back into a loose, low ponytail.There was a sad attempt at a mustache prickling above Tommy’s upper lip, whereas Scout was perpetually clean-shaven.Tommy was dressed in a wool turtleneck and tweed slacks, which looked perfectly fine on _him,_ but Scout wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit like that.When it came to clothes, Scout was all about comfort and flexibility; if he couldn’t take off running in them, he wasn’t interested.

The biggest difference between the two of them, though, was their eyes.Tommy’s were narrowed and sleepy-looking, while Scout’s were wide, inquisitive, glittering.Maybe Sniper was a bit biased, but Scout’s eyes were much, much prettier than his brother’s.

Not that Sniper was doing a lot of staring into Tommy’s eyes, anyhow.The two of them sat across the kitchen table from one another, but Sniper found it hard to look up at him.Instead, he busied himself by taking his sweet, sweet time spinning his spaghetti round his fork and chewing _very_ slowly.

Sniper was horrible in situations like this, and he was even more horrible when he didn’t have time to prepare himself.He knew Scout’s brother would probably want to have them over sometime before they headed back to New Mexico, but he wasn’t expecting it to be so soon.Just this morning he and Scout were kicked out of Scout’s mum’s house, and now they were sitting in Tommy’s dining room having a spaghetti dinner.Everything was happening too fast for Sniper’s liking, but he was trying his absolute best not to put any more stress on Scout than there already was—he’d hold himself together if it killed him. 

At least Tommy and his girlfriend Tiff seemed like nice folks.Tommy didn’t say much, but that might’ve been because Scout and Tiff were doing about ninety percent of the talking. 

Sniper had never seen someone who could give Scout a run for his money when it came to talking, but Tiff had the gift of gab just as much as Scout did.The two of them took turns passing idle banter between each other, stirring up small-talk, telling lame jokes, waving their hands around, slapping their palms against the table. 

“—and I said hey, it doesn’t matter _what_ kind of shape you’re in right now.That’s what Tiff’s Fitness is all about,” Tiff said.“That’s why I started the place—so anybody who wants to exercise can feel right at home, no matter what they look like.And he said he didn’t know if—“

Tiff was the owner-slash-operator of her own gym, and as Sniper listened to her talk about it, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect career for this person.He didn’t know her that well, but it was obvious she was no stranger to weightlifting.Her biceps were nearly as large as Sniper’s head and her six-pack protruded proudly from her tight tee shirt.She had more raw muscle rippling across her body than Sniper, Scout, and Tommy put together.

Tiff’s facial features were square, blunt, and mean, but her constant smiling softened her looks considerably.She broke into a fresh grin as she reached over and gave Tommy a jovial slap on the back.The force of it sent Tommy reeling forward and his face nearly collided with his spaghetti, but there was nothing but fondness in Tommy’s eyes as he gazed up at his girlfriend.

“But if it wasn’t for this lovely little man right here, I never would’ve been able to start up my own business,” Tiff said, her chest puffing out with pride.“I tried to get a loan from the bank, but they wouldn’t let me borrow any money since my credit’s not so great.And even when I told them I’d have Tommy co-sign on the loan for me, they wouldn’t do it, since Tommy and I aren’t _married_.”Tiff rolled her eyes.“But once that first check from Tommy’s publisher came in, we had more than enough cash for the down payment on my building.”

“Publisher?” Sniper said.He had to ask; his interest was effectively piqued.“D’you, er…write books?”

“Well, _book_ ,” Tommy said, looking embarrassed.“I only, uh…have the one written, so far.”

“He’s being modest,” Tiff said, giving Tommy a clap on the shoulder which nearly sent him flying from his chair.“He’s almost finished with his second novel _already._ ”

“What sort of book is it?” Sniper asked him.

“It’s…I guess the best way to describe it would be a murder-mystery?” Tommy said.He was looking in Sniper’s general direction, but carefully avoided eye contact.“There’s a little more to it than that, but that’s pretty much what genre it falls into.I wanted to stick with something that a lot of people like, but I also…y’know.Wanted to make it my own, kinda.So I added a few fantasy elements to it, too—not a lot, just enough to give it a little extra something.”

“‘M always lookin’ for a good book to read,” Sniper said.“Is it…is it only sold ‘round here, or d’you think I could find it at a bookstore back home?”

“Oh, uh,” Tommy said, “you wanna read it, really?I’ve got a huge stack of them in my writing room.I can just—I’ll just give you one.”

Sniper didn’t know what to say.This was one of those situations where a truly polite response didn’t seem to exist. 

“That’s, well, you haven’t gotta just _give_ it to me, I could…could, erm…” _I could pay for it,_ he wanted to say, since he didn’t want to just _take_ Tommy’s book; but if he offered money, Tommy might think Sniper was flaunting his wealth.He flicked his eyes over to Scout, in the hopes that the man would pick up on the fact that he didn’t know what to say.Scout was exceptionally good at talking his way out of things like this.But Scout didn’t see Sniper looking over; he was too busy moodily shoving the food around on his plate.

_He’s sour abou’ something_ , Sniper thought, before looking back to Tommy.“I couldn’t ask you to—“

Tommy waved a dismissive hand at him.“No, it’s—please, take one.You’d kind of be doing me a favor, actually.My publisher sent me a box of them to give out to my friends, but he must’ve thought I had a lot of friends, because he sent me at _least_ a hundred.”

“Well in that case,” Sniper said, still not sure of his words, “I’d—I’d love one, thanks.”

Beside him, Scout began to jiggle his leg under the table.Yes, Scout was _definitely_ pissed off about something, and it must have something to do with Tommy and the novel he’d written.But why?What could be so bad about his brother having a successful career as a writer?Couldn’t be jealousy, could it?Scout didn’t write, and he certainly made more money than Tommy.Maybe he envied Tommy’s relaxed lifestyle?No, that probably wasn’t it; Scout seemed to live for the adrenaline rush that accompanied their government-orchestrated shoot-em-up job at RED. 

Then what could it be that had Scout in such a rotten mood?Or was he even _in_ a rotten mood?Sniper had loads of trouble with reading emotions (even his own) so he could certainly be wrong.

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it because at that moment, Tiff slapped both palms against the table, grinning devilishly.“If all of us are done eating, how about we move on into the living room?I picked up a new board game at the store the other day and I’m dying to play it with more than just two people.You guys like board games, right?”

“Hell yeah I like board games,” Scout said with an air of pride, though Sniper could tell that the smile on the man’s lips was forced.“I’m warnin’ ya, though, I’m pretty much the best at every single board game, ever.”

Tommy rolled his eyes as he stood up from his seat.“That’s a joke, right?”

The two brothers exchanged lighthearted bickering as they all made their way into the living room, but Sniper still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering Scout.He seemed like he was trying far too hard to act cheerful. 

Well, who could blame him if he was upset?After all they’d gone through with his mother, he was bound to still be working through it.

But that wasn’t the _only_ thing the matter with Scout, though, was it?Sniper thought there might be something else, something…something to do with Tommy and that book.He’d have to ask about it later. 

But for now, he lowered himself to the living room floor, watching as Tiff unfolded a Scrabble game board atop the coffee table.

_Piss_ , he thought. _Scout hates Scrabble_.

“Prepare to get your asses kicked, fellas,” Scout taunted, shimmying his way up to the coffee table. 

“Since when do you know how to spell?” Tommy countered, raising his eyebrows at his little brother.

“I’m a frickin’ _great_ speller, dickweed,” Scout shot back, “just you wait and see.”

 

****

 

But of course, the game of Scrabble actually had little to do with how good a speller you were.It mostly depended on luck—the letter tiles you ended up with, the words your opponents spelled across the game board. 

And luck was something Scout seemed to be lacking tonight.

Sniper had to give the man credit, though.Scout was competitive by nature, especially when it came to silly little games like this, but the fact that he was currently in last place didn’t seem to be bothering him.Or, at least, he was trying to pretend it wasn’t by maintaining his upbeat and cheery attitude.Sniper suspected that the smiles and the jokes were all for show, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

His suspicions were confirmed when Scout huffed out a sigh and clapped a hand to his forehead.

“Hey, uh,” he said, his smile morphing into a grimace, “I love you guys and all, but I got a headache so frickin’ bad.”

Tiff, who had been in the middle of spelling the word ‘KNIVES’ on the game board, abandoned the rest of her Scrabble tiles and rose to her feet.“We’ve got all kinds of different stuff for a headache in the kitchen.Come on, I’ll get you something.”

Scout rubbed at his temples.“I hate bein’ a game ruiner, or whatever, though.”

“Oh, don’t—don’t worry about it,” Tommy said, “I was about to suggest we do something else, anyway.This was getting a little bit boring.” 

Tommy stood up.“And while Tiff gets you some aspirin, I—I can show Lawrence to my writing room and give him one of my books.”

The anxiety that always lay in wait at the pit of Sniper’s stomach began to stir.Alone?With Scout’s brother?They’d only just met a couple hours ago; Sniper hardly knew him.If it was just the two of them in a room together, Sniper would be forced to _say_ things to him, to be pleasant and charming and prove that he was good enough to be Scout’s boyfriend.And he wasn’t so sure he could manage that.

Scout seemed to sense this.He gave Sniper an inquiring look, which Sniper responded to with an almost imperceptible nod.

Still holding his forehead with one hand, Scout stood up from the floor, then held his free hand out for Sniper to take.Sniper could get up from the floor on his own, he reckoned, but he took the proffered hand anyway.Scout pulled him into a standing position and then did something he hadn’t done in a long time—he reached up and squeezed Sniper’s shoulder.

“We should have some aspirin powder up in the cabinet somewhere,” Tiff said, jarring the two of them from their brief moment of wordless communication.“If not, I know we have it in pill form.”

Scout turned away from Sniper and began to follow Tiff into the kitchen.“Yeah, I’d rather have the powder if ya got it, it tastes like ass but it sure works in a hurry…”

Tiff said something in reply, but Sniper didn’t really catch what.His heart thudded in his ears as his safety net walked further and further away from him.

There was a word for folks like Sniper—“clingy.”Luckily, Scout was even more clingy than he was, so in a strange way, they balanced each other out fairly well. 

But that didn’t help him much in his current situation, did it?

“We can, uh,” Tommy said, reaching a hand behind his head to fiddle with his ponytail, “head…to my writing room and get that book now.It’s…just follow me.”

In a strange way, Sniper was glad that Tommy seemed to be just as nervous as he was about being alone with one another.At least they had something in common, yeah?

He followed Tommy out of the living room and down a short hallway, where there was a door to the left, a door to the right, and a door at the end it.Tommy opened the door on the right and the two of them went inside. 

This room was very much what Sniper had in mind when he’d tried to picture what a “writing room” might look like.Tucked into one corner was a large leather recliner, a floor lamp, and a side table stacked with books.Mismatched bookshelves crammed with books lined an entire wall.There was a large wooden (oak, maybe?) desk pushed against the far wall with a glimmering teal-blue typewriter atop it.Piles of paper and spools of ink ribbon sat beside it.There were stacks of books and cardboard boxes all about the room, but despite this, the room seemed quite tidy—cluttered, maybe, but tidy.

“Sorry,” Tommy said, untucking the flaps of one of the cardboard boxes.“It’s a little messy in here.”

“Oh, er,” Sniper said, his hand automatically drifting over to scratch at his right wrist, “looks fine to me.Honestly.”

Tommy reached into the box and withdrew a thick, floppy paperback, then stuck his hand into his pocket and retrieved a ball-point pen.He clicked the end of the pen and flipped the book open to the cover page.

“T-today’s your lucky day,” Tommy stuttered, attempting a crooked smile.“The author’s here to…to autograph this for you.Heh.”

Sniper appreciated that Tommy was trying to diffuse the tension between the two of them with an attempt at humor.It actually helped things a bit; Sniper felt some of the tension leave the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

“Hmh.Yeah,” he said, not really sure what he should say in reply to that.Scout could’ve thought of something witty—maybe even a pun, he was getting awfully fond of those damned _puns_ here lately—but Sniper’s mind was completely blank as he watched Tommy scribble much more than just a signature inside the front cover of the book.

When he was done writing, Tommy blew on the ink a few times to make it dry quicker, then closed it and handed it over to Sniper.Sniper handled it like it was made of porcelain, being extremely careful not to bend it too much or dent any of its corners. 

The front cover depicted a tall, muscular, short-haired woman and a lanky man with a ponytail—not unlike Tiff and Tommy, Sniper thought.The woman had what looked like a staff or wand of some sort gripped in her fist, while the man clutched an amulet hanging round his neck.

_Ancient Whispers_ , the front cover read.

“That’s a good-lookin’ cover, mate,” Sniper said. 

“I figured you’d like it,” Tommy said.“Kenicky drew that for me.”

Eyes widening, Sniper looked at the front cover again.Knowing Scout drew it made it look so much more…he didn’t know how to describe it.Personal, maybe?On the outside of the book was his lover’s artwork, and on the inside were his may-as-well-be-brother-in-law’s words.

“He never told me abou’ drawin’ anything for you,” Sniper said, running his fingertips lightly over the cover.He hadn’t mentioned Tommy had a book published, either, but Sniper decided not to say anything about that.

“That doesn’t surprise me.He’s always been really self-conscious about his artwork.”

Sniper carefully tucked the book into the crook of his elbow.“Dunno why he would be.He’s bloody brilliant.”

Tommy gave him a warm smile—probably the most genuine smile he’d sported the whole evening.

“You really love my brother, don’t you?”

Sniper’s cheeks grew hot.He cleared his throat.“Well—well, yeah.Course.”

“He’s crazy about you, you know.You’re all he talks about when he calls me on the phone.”

Now Sniper’s entire face felt uncomfortably warm.“Yeah?”

“I kept asking him to mail me a picture of you, but he said you didn’t like getting your picture taken.I can understand that, I don’t like getting my picture taken, either.I’m glad to finally get to see what you look like in person.”

“Yeah,” Sniper nodded, “likewise.Kenicky thinks the world of all his brothers ’n’ his mum, so it’s…it’s good to get t’meet the one he’s closest to.Just wish the meetin’ wiv your mum would’ve gone smoother…she did _not_ care for me at all, I can tell you that.”

“She doesn’t like Tiff, either.Honestly, I think she’s jealous.”

“I…I dunno abou’ that…why would she be jealous o’ _me_?”

“I think…I think because you and Kenicky have a good relationship, and she knows it.Same reason she doesn’t like Tiff.We have a good relationship and she’s jealous of it.She’s spent her whole life trying to find a good man, you know?And when _Kenicky_ found a keeper before _she_ did…it probably rubbed her the wrong way, is all.”

Sniper took a moment to think about all of that.“Now that you mention it…you might be right.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Tommy said.“Maybe she’ll come around.If she doesn’t, you know you’re always welcome here.”

Sniper tipped his head in Tommy’s direction.“Thanks, mate.”

“And don’t feel bad if you don’t like my book.It’s…it’s kinda weird.It’s not for everybody.”

“I’m easy to please when it comes to books, I’m sure I’ll…er.Like it.”

From the open doorway, Sniper could hear Scout’s muffled grumbling coming from the living room.

“Sounds like they’re back in the living room,” Tommy said.“I guess we’d better head in there ourselves.”

“Yeah.”

When Sniper walked back into the living room, Scout was still holding a palm to his forehead.His eyes were glassy and his cheeks were flushed.Sniper could tell by looking that Scout really didn’t feel well; stress headache, probably.What he needed was a dark room, a cold cloth on his forehead, and a good night’s rest.Maybe Scout would know what to say in order to gracefully excuse the two of them from the house.

“Why don’t you go on back to your hotel and get some rest?” Tommy said, frowning at his younger brother.

“Think I’m gonna have to, man,” Scout muttered.“This headache came from outta frickin’ _nowhere_.It’s killin’ me.”

Tommy crossed the room and threw his arms around his brother, locking him into a hug.Scout squeezed his own arms around Tommy, and the two of them stood like that for a couple seconds before releasing one another. 

“Maybe we can get a bite to eat, or something, tomorrow,” Tommy said.“The four of us.Have you taken Lawrence to Fenway Park yet?”

Scout nodded.“Yeah, we did that yesterday.Just in case Ma put me in a mood, y’know?I wanted to make sure we didn’t leave Boston without doin’ that, so that was the first thing we did.”

“Don’t worry about Ma.Like I told Lawrence just a second ago—you’re always welcome in my house.”

Scout nodded again.“Thanks, man.Really."

Tommy smiled—another genuine smile, Sniper noted.“Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.”

They said their goodbyes and headed out the front door.Before Sniper descended the staircase, he flipped Tommy’s book open to the front cover and read what Tommy had written there.

Beneath Tommy’s signature were four simple words, written in impossibly neat handwriting:

_Welcome to the family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo boy. I can't believe it took me this long to write this chapter. The sad part of it is, I tried to work on it every day. I didn't procrastinate or forget about it or anything. I just...had writer's block, I guess. Most of my time was spent just staring at my cursor blinking at me. I am SO GLAD that I finally got this chapter finished. It's a relief.
> 
> But anyway, I'm sorry about the delay. I know I usually do one chapter every 7-9 days....but I just couldn't make this happen any faster than it did. Thank you to everyone who was patient with me :)
> 
> Oh. And I apologize for more original characters, but it's necessary sometimes. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> *******EDIT*******
> 
> After a lot of thought, I've decided to mark this as complete. I could have added one more chapter, but I liked the way this one ended. Thank you to everyone who read this till the end. It was hard, but I greatly enjoyed working on this fic. 
> 
> I don't have any chaptered fics currently in the works, but I fully intend to keep writing for the TF2 fandom. You can keep an eye on AO3 or my Tumblr to see what I write (:


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